


Heir to Winterfell

by ARMEN15



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 20th Century, After the battle, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Badass Arya, F/M, Mad Queen Cersei Lannister, Queen in the North, Rare Pairings, Rare Relationships, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, heir to winterfell, mention of miscarriage, post west of westeros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARMEN15/pseuds/ARMEN15
Summary: PLEASE HAVE MERCY ON ME. COVID HIT HARD ON MY FAMILY, DEATHS AND QUARANTINE, SO I WILL FINISH THIS WORK, I ASSURE, BUT THERE ARE MANY THINGS IN MY MIND NOW, I JUST UPDATED ANOTHER WORK AND IT IS A PROOF OF MY GOOD WILL TO COMPLETE ALSO THIS.An AU timeline, set in a vague post WW2  -  post reconstruction time.The North has its independence, but the Queen's desires aren't fulfilled yet. Happily married, she needs her sister's help more than ever. Arya is caught between her need of freedom and her duty to House Stark. Tyrion adores his wife. Jaime is rebuilding his life in the North.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Gendry Waters, Bronn & Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister & Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Arya Stark, Nymeria & Arya Stark, Sandor Clegane & Arya Stark, Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 84
Kudos: 151





	1. At first

ARYA

Coming and going, never setting permanently.  
Arya Stark had been away from Winterfell town for so long during her youth.  
First two boring public schools for high born girls she was expelled from, then the nurse school she attended in the East, then the service in the army during the first months of the war: the idea to stay after the North won had become unnatural.  
The kingdom and Winterfell Hall were safe with Sansa and Tyrion, her mother had moved to her ancestral castle with her younger sibling - a better climate for Rickon’s asthma - the country was in peace, the Queen was wise and Arya trusted the North army commander.  
Arya was an independent young woman of five and twenty, eager to discover the world, so she decided to travel and return home and take leave again.  
An intoxicating sensation of freedom on her skin, tickling like the frozen rain of her homeland, before it became snow.  
Arya was away for her third travel, the first to last more than a few weeks, when the telegram found her in Kings Landing, observing the reconstruction of the city destroyed by fire and bombs.  
The awful news, once again the shattered hope to hold in her arms her first niece or nephew; Tyrion was asking Arya to be back to support Sansa.  
Arya took her time to return, ruled by a strange impulse to delay, to prolong the travel, to stay away for as much as possible.  
Every evening she felt sorry for her sister, every morning she had the impulse to miss the train or boat.  
Home was calling her like a magnet, attracting and repulsing her at the same time.  
Home were memories sad and happy, father and Robb gone, the war and her scars, laughs and family gatherings and the pure white snow covering the landscape.  
Nymeria felt her three days in advance, the wolf left the Hall gardens and run into the woods, as Arya could speak to her, hear Sansa’s cries, taste her salty tears, listen to Tyrion’s silence and feel hands caressing the large furry head.  
Nymeria getting close to a former enemy was a novelty, Tyrion was scared of wolves and kept himself always at safe distance. The wolf loved to put her large muzzle under people’s arms and offered her paw, she appeared tamer than usual.  
Nymeria was closer to ten than to five, less wild than in her youth, Arya had forgotten how young she herself was when she held her puppy for the first time.  
Getting closer to the North, her return was delayed also by transport issues, the country was rebuilding itself slowly, few trains and buses reached the capital, shortage of fuel, of electricity, the roads had many holes, food was rationed.  
She missed her old open jeep, the one she drove careless on the fields around Winterfell town, all worn out seats and rusty scars Tyrion had promised her to fix. Her brother in law was such a good man, he didn’t deserve to be born a dwarf and be deprived of a family.

\---

TYRION 

Tyrion spent a week in his study, reading books, writing letters to the best hospitals, asking Doctor Tarly’s advice, completed with Sam’s own search: Tyrion had to know, to find an answer to their failure.  
The letters returned, the opinions were different and contradictory.  
Cold weather, as if the snow was not a good reason to stay in bed all day with his dear wife, making love.  
Too strong pressures to have an heir. But they were able to conceive, it was impossible to carry to term.  
The food they ate to add strength to his seed and her womb – fresh seafood and oysters were recommended and he laughed loudly, Winterfell town was far from the sea and the goods would arrive frozen if he ordered them.  
Too frequent or too few couplings – a doctor suggested abstinence to have a stronger seed for just an attempt a month, another …  
In a fit of rage Tyrion throw all the letters into the fire.  
Defeat. He had to admit it.  
Lannister’s seed was good, his mother had two easy pregnancies, the delay between his and his sibling’s birth due to their father often away abroad; she died shortly after his birth due to the flu epidemic that killed hundreds of people across all the kingdoms. His sister and his brother – damnation to their love – conceived three healthy children, there was a myriad of Lannister cousins.  
The true reason of Sansa’s miscarriages would remain unknown.  
Five years of marriage, three children lost, always in the first trimester; Sansa was getting more and more distraught and the mere thought of her falling into depression was frightening for Tyrion.  
She wanted to be a mother, she loved children, she fostered some after the end of the war, then found families for all of them, except for a skinny little girl with dark hair; later when a single mother drowned into the cold lake after a flood Sansa took care of her little boy.  
But they weren’t true heirs for Winterfell, heirs needed to secure peace after so many years of war. The siege during the first months of war had been an example, things could change in the space of a heartbeat.  
Tyrion was aware peace was still fragile and Bran’s health important to preserve, his brother in law was in a wheelchair and couldn’t travel easily to settle disputes and threats.  
Sansa was a great Queen, respected and loved, Tyrion knew the decision to stay with her in the North was the wisest of his whole life; all the people he loved were there, his new family and the remains of the old. .


	2. Lost and won

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of miscarriage in this chapter, you are alerted.

SANSA

Sansa woke up in silence to let Tyrion rest, she picked up a wool robe and headed downstairs to the kitchens while dawn was filtering through the thick curtains that kept the cold outside.  
It was early, she was still sleepy, but she wanted to eat a slice of bread to ease her stomach, then sit at her desk beside the fire and write to Bran.  
Elected as chairman of the council of the kings and queens, her brother was one of her best counsellors, beside her husband.  
Her family was scattered, but Tyrion was home and Arya often visited; she hoped for more, from her only sister, but pressure Arya was a sure failure. It was already a miracle things were going well with the Lannisters, after the troubled years before the war, that caused her brother in law to be wounded and loose a hand.  
She opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and a sudden cramp caused her to lay heavily against the frame. She breathed for a while standing still, the cramps intensified.  
She tried not to cry, but tears were too close to her eyelids to be pushed back. She was sure what her body was telling her, a failure, another delusion.  
Earlier than the second time, later than the first: she counted each day, praying for a miracle. Sansa remembered her mother during her last pregnancy with Rickon, when the doctor’s prognosis wasn’t good; Catelyn’s roots from the Tully ancestral land helped the mother to be and she lighted candles in front of the altar of the Holy Mother in her private chapel and prayed every morning and evening to keep her baby alive.  
Sansa was her mother’s portrait but not her mother’s body regarding children.  
She slide on the tiled floor and let herself cry. She forgot the discomfort, the cramps, the coldness, she wept and her tears washed away her pain and her child.  
Later she’d call Tyrion to be lead to Sam’s practice and back on their bed, to be comforted and tended to. Now she just wanted to be alone.  
Sandor Clegane’s sleep was always difficult if he was sober, so he used to leave his room barely after dawn, busying himself with useful chores, wanting to show his devotion to house Stark who saved him from his horrible past.  
When he arrived with coal to start the kitchen fires, he saw the prone body and kneeled beside Sansa.  
Without need for words, he lifted her up, saw the red stain on her robe and holding his precious little Queen  
run upstairs to her husband.  
Sansa was like a feather in his strong arms, she felt his tears on her hair. Her people’s love and devotion were a balm to her aching heart and another blow to her deapir for failing them with the long awaited heir to Winterfell. 

JAIME

Admiration, respect, awe and fear. Not in equal parts.  
Colonel Jaime Lannister remembered well when Arya Stark returned to the walls of Winterfell town with her scout Clegane, preceding the enemy’s siege.  
As the Northern Army Commander - after the Starks’s decision to appoint him to the delicate position at the start of the war - he let them go out on patrol after Arya’s insistent request; the young Stark girl gave up her nurse position when Lieutenant Bran Stark was badly wounded in his back. Arya wanted revenge, wanted to kill, she opened Jaime’s office door and stood still and proud until Jaime lead her to the polygon and got the surprise of his life when she hold her first gun.  
Full score.  
A natural.  
Better than her fencing, her father’s great passion he passed to some of his children.  
A few days of further training and long evenings spent together studying artillery were enough to confirm her abilities. Sargeant Clegane become her shadow – at Sansa’s and Jaime’s request - and the foundries close to the mines were reorganized to produce new and more powerful cannons. War effort, all resources were used, all people. Artillery weapons surrounded Winterfell town and the other main towns of the kingdom.  
Screaming engine and screeching tyres, Arya jumped off her open jeep in a rush of limbs and shouted, calling her sister, Tyrion and Jaime loudly.  
The siege. Frantic, fast, a horde of soldiers and mercenaries, a wild bunch of nameless and honourless soldiers, who wanted the gold and the goods of the North.  
Colonel Lannister appreciated the young Stark woman barking orders, calling the men on the town walls and forcing to take refuge inside them Sansa and those unable to fight.  
The artillery was ready, they had enough bullets stored under the basement and the huge crypt under the cathedral, the town was protecting the valleys behind it from the advancing soldiers with their menacing red and white flags.  
All gates closed, all secret passageways controlled, the night fell and the lights of the enemy camps shone like wild animals’ eyes in the darkness. The town was cut off from its allies, the army of the North had to fight alone, people were piled up inside the town, food and water rationed.  
Arya was not afraid, a brave and strong girl, she remembered Jaime her aunt, a lifetime before, when their families were closer, when his father tried to forge deeper alliances through marriages.  
Lyanna died because of men, of men’s ego and jealousy and Arya showed clearly no intention at all to fall in the same trap.  
She’d put a claim on someone if she felt inclined so, maybe a short living claim, not accepting to be claimed herself, Sansa had told the two Lannisters.  
Arya was strong, in her petite body was hidden a powerful energy, fuelled by a natural lust for fighting.  
In the war office, Tyrion was speaking with officers Tully, Greyjoy and Giantsbane, Jaime studied maps with Arya, their eyes met above the large sheets spread on the table. Smoke from the fire, sweat, bottles of single malt and food leftovers, yellow lamp lights that made Jaime’s hair look white.  
“I have a plan.” She broke the silence, pointing her middle finger on the map. “The siege will be short if I sneak out from the canal running under the town hall and main street for a mile, it gets iced as soon as it leaves the hot springs on the western side and I can walk on it. I’m light.”  
Jaime followed her hand, intrigued by the idea, Sansa was worried.  
“It is risky. They could see you in the open”  
“I know this town better than anyone else. The canal ends in a bramble bunch near the old chapel with the fallen roof. I can crawl under and I know the path to the other side of the hill, leading to the farms. The woods are so dark and thick I can pass from branch to branch. I’ll get a car in one of the farms and drive to reach the Wolves, while the united army under Jaime’s command will create a diversion at the south town gate. Like asking an armistice, offering a truce.”  
At the mention of the special regiment with the grey wolf on the banner, the selected commandos lead by Arya’s cousin, Major Jon Snow, based in most remote area of the North, Jamie had to admit Arya was a good strategist indeed.  
She was determined, she deserved to be a high rank official beside him, dealing with the war council.  
When after two days he spent awake - afraid to close his eyes and worried to death for Arya - Jaime heard the wolves’ song of war, powerful and loud and saw their silver fur berets shining in the distance, he stood outside the gate she had told him to guard and guided the Northern army to a great victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my imagination, there is a bit of Edimburgh in this Winterfell town, the Royal Mile and Mary Kings Close.


	3. Coming home

ARYA II

Tyrion waited for Arya near the main gate, sat on the old well’s edge; when Nymeria become restless, pulling her rope, refusing food and eventually running away into the woods during the previous week, Tyrion understood her owner was coming home.  
Arya quickly get out of the car driven by Sandor and ran to hug Tyrion; her height quite unchanged since entering puberty, she was nevertheless a head taller than him.  
“How’s Sansa?” She looked straight into his eyes, asking for the truth.  
“Slowly accepting, this time’s been harder.”  
“Third time? I’ve been away for a long time.”  
“Yes, third, we’re giving up, Sansa can’t destroy herself.”  
“I’ll speak with her.” They started walking toward the Hall entrance, Tyrion appeared resigned, Arya noticed.  
“It could be my fault, you know. I’m a monster, it’s evident.”  
“Tyrion your body is just…smaller. And Sansa got pregnant, so you …”  
“But I never fathered a live child with all the women I had before her!”  
The subject of Tyrion’s confused and promiscuous past, especially when he lived abroad, had been forgotten due to the war. More urgent issues had arisen, then after the victory Tyrion and sansa were in love and their previous lives were not important anymore.  
“Do you think one of them could have?”  
“No, I don’t think so. But Shae, I know she wanted one. She missed her period, once, and then she told me and for a week I was happy, a bastard would be another shame from me for father, but I didn’t care. Then she bleed and I drunk myself to oblivion for three days, thinking how fool I had been to deserve a little happiness for me.” 

JAIME II

The little wolf was back home; Jaime heard her unmistakable voice coming from the back garden then he saw her walking with Sandor through the apple field.  
Arya Stark was careless and wild and Jaime was enchanted, she was like Lyanna had been, like Cersei was before lust for power – not for him – got the best of her.  
Maybe Arya’s fate would be better than theirs: Ned stark let his sister and daughters follow their own inclinations. Lyanna got caught in a poisonous love net, Arya’s foil was her true love.  
They met on the fencing platform at night during the war, to find a distraction, to concentrate in the effort, each aiming to a victory.  
Cersei as a child liked to swap roles with him and train, but she was never so dedicated to fencing like the young Stark.  
Jaime admired Arya because she was not afraid. Dressed in trousers and worn out mackintosh, wearing muddy boots and never a trace of lipstick, she was autentic.  
A young Cersei liked to fight with him, to bathe in the sea under the castle, to run along the dark corridors of the inhabited wings so that no one could see them.  
Arya was this and more and he couldn’t help to feel again some of those emotions he had forgotten for so long, buried under the pain of the death of his family, of the loss of Cersei’s love.  
Betrayed and damned by a woman only, since he opened his eyes as a child, until all their children died.  
Having around Arya, Jaime felt younger, alive, and he stared with a hint of sadness at how she laughed and smiled with the other soldiers, how she drove her jeep around the camp. The local blacksmith promoted chief gunner was a young man, black hair and broad chest, who reminded Jaime of someone, until he heard the news he had royal blood and made the connection with the dead king.  
If only… If only Robert had not loved Lyanna, how things would have been different, maybe his sister ‘d not married into the Stag house.  
Waa history repeating itself? Was Gendry obsessed with Arya like his father had been with her aunt?  
Maybe Gendry could catch Arya’s eye, a young and fierce woman and all men would like to be hers, her first, her only.  
A girl made of steel, a concentrate of energy and Jaime liked to banter with her and he wanted to make her laugh, to see her smile after Gendry left for his new position on the family seat.  
It was right, Cersei’s younger son was meant to be the legitimate heir of Storm’s end, but Tommen died and Gendry took his father’s former house. The pain in Jaime’s heart was a sharp knife in his flesh, he’d preferred to have one of his offspring alive, to remain a secret father until his death, instead of having three graves he could stand by, mourning. 

SANSA II

“Jon’s second child could inherit Winterfell. Male or female. The succession rules have been changed after so many heirs and squires died in the war.”  
Sansa was all practical matters, her face expressionless, eating porridge for breakfast. Years after the victory, there was shortage of food, crops were scarce, too many fields left abandoned and farms destroyed; Tyrion was searching new farmers to settle there with the promise of long leasings of the land.  
Tyrion felt his heart drown in sadness: his wife, the love of his life, deserved so much more.  
“There must be another way.” He wanted them to try for the fourth time but she was so sad.  
“Who else, Tyrion? Robb is dead. Jon and Ygritte’s firstborn is heir to their kingdom. Rickon’s health is precarious. Bran cannot sire so he and Meera adopted, there’s no…”  
“Arya could.” Sansa’s eyes widened and the spoon she was holding fell from her fingers..  
“Arya? Are you drunk?”  
“Not at all, my love. I’m perfectly sober.”  
“She’d kill whatever man would dare to get close. Slaughter him with her foil before he could kiss her, let alone take her to bed.”  
“Not all men, I’m sure.”  
Sansa stared at her husband whit a quizzical look. He was up to something, his brain was making a plan and she was absolutely curious to hear it.  
Sansa wondered if Tyrion had developed his intelligence because he could not develop his body or for a cruel joke he got all the brain while his two siblings got good looks and perfect bodies.  
She knew she’d accepted gladly a dwarf child, gifted with the father’s intelligence; what a vain blond fool Joffery had been, stupid, cruel and also without his real father’s brave heart?  
Tyrion cut apple slices and put some on Sansa’s plate, waiting for her to chew it before speaking.  
“Have you noticed when Arya is here how close to my brother she is? I’ve never seen him so alive since he left our sister.”  
Jaime’s eyes had a different light when he fenced with the little wolf, she was teaching him how to use his remaining hand. They could spend all the afternoon inside the training room, forgetting everything, hunger and thirst and tiredness, concentrated on the weapons they used, his new foil, lighter than his old sword to adapt to his less powerful and reliable left hand, and her long thin one, made by excellent steel, a gift from her old friend Gendry, once a blacksmith, now legitimized and Lord on his own right.  
“Gendry asked Arya’s hand during the siege and she refused.”  
Sansa received her sister’s confession when Arya announced her incoming travel after the war; sansa wasn’t happy to part from her sister so soon, but she understood Winterfell town was not enough for Arya, nor Storm’s end with Gendry; at the time, Arya wasn’t ready for marriage.  
Sansa’s youthful books about white knights and sweet princesses lead her to marry a dwarf in the Godswood chapel where her parents had married, a man whose intelligence had few competitors and whose height sadly too much.  
“You could sponsor Lord Baratheon, if you wish, my dear.”  
In truth, Tyrion believed a life with Gendry wasn’t suitable for a free spirit like Arya because Gendry’s prospective had changed since he remained the only male heir of the royal Baratheon line; Sansa had doubts a seasoned old lion could forge with Arya a different kind of bond, a unconventional one, so the couple disagreed on the topic.  
Tyrion could not discuss with Sansa his belief Arya missed a fatherly role and an older man would offer her stability, an anchor; Tyrion was sure Jaime would never force her to become a proper lady.


	4. The project

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but RL, pandemia and other works kept me too busy.  
> Thanks for your patience and please add your comments.

TYRION II 

The celebration of the armistice was one of the most important events for the whole kingdom.  
Every year the Queen’s family gathered in Wintertown cathedral hall to take part to the commemoration, wearing red coccradre and visiting the war memorials.  
Knowing how important the date was for Sansa, Arya planned her travels to return always in time  
It was a difficult day for the Queen, the parade, the speeches, flowers and candles for each grave. Father, Robb, Theon, uncles and cousins who shed their blood for the North.  
Sad memories of people once loved and now lost forever.  
The Stark family used to meet in the evening around the dining room table of the Hall and although Sansa loved to see her mother and siblings reunited, she felt her heart too saddened looking at her father’s seat in the drawing room, where no one wanted to sit; her wolf lady loved to rest under it.  
Tyrion knew Sansa would leave the group soon, it had happened since the first time, six years ago, when she had slide quietly from the couch, put her coffee on the table and headed for the door.  
He had followed, as fast as his legs allowed, and once in the corridor called for the Queen.  
It wasn’t the place he meant to, but the time was right, Lady Catelyn had talked during the whole dinner about the future of the House, of the kingdom, about lineage and young bachelor lords so Tyrion took a deep breath, hide his trembling hands behind his back and asked Sansa to marry him.  
She stopped, bowed her head to meet his eyes and whispered her yes.  
This time they took leave together, undisturbed, while Catelyn and Arya discussed about Arya’s choice of clothing. A pair of black trousers and a white shirt Catelyn swore belonged to one of her sons; it was a topic mother and daughter always disagreed upon so Sansa smiled climbing the marble staircase.  
Tyrion used to set out a small celebration in their private sitting room, a bottle of champagne and a freshly baked lemon cake for the Queen.  
Sansa opened the door and saw the warm fire and the food on the small table, with a bunch of daisies from the gardens in a crystal vase.  
She turned to face her husband and he took her hand and kissed it  
“Happy anniversary, my love.” he whispered.  
Tyrion poured two glasses and offered Sansa hers, they toasted and Tyrion gulped the champagne, there was a nervousness he felt in every part of his small body.  
Sansa took just a little sip.  
“Thank you.” She said, caressing Tyrion’s cheek before moving to the door leading to their bedroom.  
The cake untouched, Tyrion’s suspicions increased.  
When he followed, after putting ashes to calm the fire, she was already in bed and he swiftly joined his wife, turning off the lights; he scooted to her side and Sansa turned, giving Tyion her back.  
He froze, his hand stopped mid air, before it reached her arm.  
Never once before she refused him on those nights or on their marriage anniversaries, neither the second time she was pregnant and they added more joy to the celebration.  
“Sansa please, look at me. “  
Sheets moving and she complied but her arms over the duvet were along her body, not around him.  
“Are you unwell?”  
“No Tyrion, it had been a long and difficult day.”  
He nodded and took her hand, caressing the palm.  
“I know, my dear, I’m sorry for the sad memories the war causes you. But Rickon seemed so happy to be here.”  
“He can travel because he’s better, my mother has saved him. she could not accept to loose another son after Robb.”  
Tyrion’s hand moved up her shoulder and she remained still; her skin was so cold..  
“But you’re not happy.”  
He wanted desperately to hold her, to have his arms around his dear wife and make love to her; her cold reaction was painful to see.  
“I’m afraid, Tyrion. I know what you expect from this evening, but I’m scared. If.. if it should happen again, I could not…”  
Her voice trembled and tyrion understood: she could not accept another miscarriage and was terrified to try again for a child. It was the reason Sansa was so interested in the idea to pair Arya with a man. Not their child as the heirs, but their nephew or niece.  
“I’m sorry, Sansa.”  
Unable to add more words, Tyrion climbed off the bed, took his dressing gown and left the room. 

JAIME II

The Lannister brothers usually shared a night cap in the library, Tyrion’s informal office; Tyrion’s efforts to reduce alcohol consumption were discontinuous. Every new miscarriage made his resolve to stay sober crumble. Tyrion poured a finger of vintage brandy from a bottle long abandoned in the cellar and lifted his glass, turning to admire the fire reflection on the crystal.  
Jaime left his liquor untouched on the table between their armchairs, to remain alert in front of his brother, Tyrion had been observing Jaime for a few days and he wanted to know the reason. He could be the less intelligent Lannister, but he wasn’t so stupid.  
“You’re different, brother. I saw you laugh loudly, you didn’t do it for a very long time.”  
“I’ve find my spot in the world, we’re at peace, I have time to teach the young officers.”  
“You’re still in active service, you’re not supposed to be a teacher.”  
“They’re young, I’m glad to spend time with them. I’m glad to live here, too, we’re well feed, warm and your lovely wife keep the Hall alive. I could see myself getting old here. I’m a fat cat in front of the fire more than a roaring lion now.”  
“so that’s what keep you alive?”  
“I told you, dealing with paper works, riding, sparring. I’m a quiet man.”  
“Nothing more?”  
“I’m well past a time of wanting more than I already have. Everything I had I lost. so I stopped desiring impossible things”  
Tyrion observed Jaime, his smile didn’t reach full his eyes, there was something Jaime was holding back.  
He knew that feeling, since Tyrion himself was holding back the hurt at not having the desired child; Sansa could see it as a needed heir, for Tyrion it would be the occasion to have someone to protect, to teach, his mind was wide, bigger than his frail mortal body and maybe his child could become a learner, a wise man or woman who’d rule Winterfell and the north with mercy and strength.  
Jaime wasn’t a complicated man, never a mastermind like his father and Cersei had been, just an impulsive boy, a kind soul who loved wrong, but loved with all his heart. Cersei had been a poison for Jaime during their youth and early adulthood, until she descended into madness.  
Tyrion, happy and deeply in love with Sansa, would like the same for Jaime and he hoped his plan could help him.  
A part of him thought it wasn’t right to force his brother to consider the idea of a family, but he remembered the night after Myrcella’s death. Tyrion forced Jaime to sit beside him near the fireplace and offered him a whiskey, but Jaime grabbed the proffered hand, letting the glass fall and shatter in pieces, and hid his face in his brother’s chest, growling like a wounded animal.  
Jaime had thought Myrcella was safe to return home with him after her broken engagement, they were talking on the car, for once Jaime was alone with her in a six hours drive and he wanted her to know the truth about her parentage. She already did and was not repulsed and his heart was full of hope; they travelled talking as father and daughter for the first time until the truck light behind them got close, too close and before Jaime pulled on the side to let it pass, the drunken driver pushed them against a tree and killed Myrcella.  
Tyrion dared to ask Jaime if he’d turn back time and avoid father three children.  
“I don’t know. All the good I did was nothing compared to the moment Mrycella accepted me. She loved me, my face and my history. For that brief time, I felt a changed man.” 

ARYA III

Arya remained silent while Sansa observed her; she had predicted a fit of rage, shouts, Arya storming away from the room, hissing menaces and clenching her fists.  
Instead Sansa got no reactions at all and it was hitting her nerves. She knew the request was unusual and difficult for her sister to process. Tyrion had offered his presence and support, but Sansa believed it was a matter to discuss with Arya alone; Tyrion would be eager to know the outcome later and decide how to approach his own target.  
But Arya seemed to mull over it too much, for too long. The silence was unusual for her, never afraid and seldom at loss for words.  
“Who?” She blurted out.  
Sansa was surprised at the question.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I mean who I have to lie with. Can I choose by myself or should I accept your choice and be quiet and spread my legs?”  
“Arya, I’ll never force you…”  
“Well technically you’re dong so. I believe last time a Stark was pressed to marry for duty was our great grandfather, am I wrong?”  
Sansa bowed the head in confirmation: when the Stark heir died in the Far East following a military expedition, leaving behind two daughters only, the spare was obliged by his mother to marry a distant cousin who gave birth to grandfather Rickon. By comparison, her first marriage to Ramsay had been simply a young woman tricked by lord Baleish, her mother’s long time friend, to choose a handsome husband whose vices were kept well hidden with the compliacency of the whole Hose Bolton.  
Arya’s mouth was thin and Sansa noticed she wasn’t chewing her lower lip as usual: a bad sign. She preferred the nervous Arya to the cold young women standing now in front of her.  
“I’m explaining simply our responsibility of assuring a heir to the kingdom is now yours. Me and Tyrion cannot.”  
Arya laughed, Sansa was getting nervous.  
“You can try with another man. We have enough close examples of infidelity. Jon’s father, just to quote one.” The man cheated on his wife and Aunt Lyanna ended up pregnant with Jon and heartbroken.  
Arya spat out her inner rage and saw the sudden pain in Sansa’s face.  
“Arya!”  
Sansa was faithful to Tyrion and the idea of another man, after Ramsay Bolton and his cruel behaviour was impossible to bear; she choose Tyrion for his tenderness and his deep respect toward her person.  
Arya asked forgiveness for her stupidity, an impulsive reaction; Sansa and Tyrion were meant for each other, Arya was a little envious, deep in her heart, to see how close and devoted they were. Ten years before they met and crashed like two ships in a wreckage, now they were sailing together in perfect unison.  
“It’s too important, Arya, I’m pleading for house Stark. We came a long way to keep Winterfell ours and…”  
“And it seems Winterfell is not satisfied. Well, I’ll think about it.”  
“We could ask our counsellors to write a marriage contract to protect you.”  
“Perfect idea! All rules and codes. Has mother suggested it?”  
“I haven’t talked with her. It’s between us. If you want someone you already know, you could.. ask Gendry.”  
“No! I’m not his lady and he’d want to be in my life, in the child’s life. And Storms’ end is not my home. I need to be free.”  
“If not him, are there other man you’d find worth?”  
“My requests aren’t easy to satisfy.”  
Sansa stopped, no way to name her brother in law as an option; if she listened to Arya’s list about a suitable husband, they’ll never find the right one. The problem was deadly serious.  
“You could choose a widow or a divorced man already with children, to avoid sterility.”  
“Some names you suggests? Our vicar is a widow, but he’s 74. I doubt he can bed a woman anymore.”  
“There’s the Colonel.”  
Arya’s eyes widened showing all her greyness; of all the men Sansa could propose, he was probably the most absurd one.  
“He’s a bachelor, Sansa, are you forgetting it?”  
Sansa’s face remained impassive; Arya’s forehead furrowed: it couldn’t be true, sure Sansa was wrong and Tyrion sure was involved in everything regarding his only brother.  
“Does he have children? I heard rumours in the past about him and his twin.” Her voice was tentative, was it true that King Robert’s children from his marriage weren’t his?  
“He had, Arya.”


	5. Broken heart

SANSA III

A mid morning meeting in Sansa’s drawing room, under the official portraits of the Starks ancestors, back to the founder of Winterfell hall in the middle age. Their serious faces were a little intimidating and Jaime was never at ease when the Queen summoned him there instead of the conservatory, full of light and blooming lemon trees.  
Jaime held a thick folder, the Queen was at her desk, Tyrion was reading the local newspaper, sipping a cup of tea; a normal routine, documents to examine, promotions to decide, a new air force base to build.  
The royal couple signed the decision taken and Jaime collected the sheets, he needed time with an hand only and he was ready to leave when the Queen asked him to stay.  
“There’s another matter, brother.” She liked to call him so, knowing it made Tyrion happy.  
Jaime perched on the edge of the chair, his mind imagining a list of possible problems and plausible solutions. There were rumours from the South, riots and street protests due to the corruption in that kingdom; people were hungry and the government unable to feed them; Jaime was against the request of the Martell King to send Northern forces there, his idea was to deliver food.  
“A private one.” Tyrion’s voice was deadly serious and he stood and closed the door communicating with the Queen’s secretary room; Podrick was a trusted man, but the matter was too personal.  
Sansa leaned against the back of her armchair, closing her eyes to concentrate.  
The feeling of wood and worn out leather under her fingers gave her stability and the strength to focus on the talk that was to come. She heard Tyrion move his armchair closer to hers and his hand over hers, offering comfort.  
Five minutes later, Jaime was sweating and he passed a finger under his shirt collar shirt to ease the pressure of his uniform tie.  
Unable to think clearly, he asked permission to leave that the Queen graciously conceded; Sansa didn’t say a word watching him sprint to the door, she turned to Tyrion who stood up and embraced her; it has been a difficult proof, Tyrion knew how hard for Sansa was to reveal her sterility to the people.  
Jaime walked inside the Hall, lost like in a labyrinth , he searched for a way out, until he was in the back garden under a large oak tree.  
He felt the need to smoke then he remembered Tyrion was the only one doing so.  
Air, fresh spring air to clear his mind.  
Pale sun, caressing his face.  
_Words, bits of the conversation resounded in his mind._  
_Importance to maintain peace._  
_For the sake of the kingdom._  
_Our need of a heir._  
_It’ll stay in the family!_  
_You and Arya sure can._  
_Please, brother, do it for us._  
Not again, he felt a cold shiver running down his spine, felt his heart ache again like when the doctors had told him in the hospital corridor Myrcella was lost and when Tommen’s plane went missing from the radar.

JAIME III

Jamie spent the following week walking close to the walls to pass unnoticed.  
Every time he glimpsed a woman - a maid, a secretary, a nurse - he turned into a corner or found an empty room to hide.  
It was silly from a seasoned warrior, but he felt terribly embarrassed at the idea to face Arya. It was evident arya was planning to stay in Winterfell for a while, Sandor took her jeep to the mechanic for a complete revision and Tyrion renovated her old apartment, adding an adjoining office for the Crown Princess using Bran’s old bedroom.  
The heir to Winterfell matter wasn’t brought up for a few days, but Tyrion told Jaime Sansa had spoken with Arya first, pointing out Jamie's strong seed in fathering Cersei’s bastards; in that moment Jamie would have preferred to have something else cut from his body, instead of his right hand.  
And the more he avoided Arya, the more the inauguration of the new train station was approaching, an official event with the presence of the Royal family and various dignitary of the kingdom.  
Jamie asked Tyrion to be freed and got a cold stare from him and Podrick; when he had the idea to fake an illness he knew he had reached the bottom of the pit.  
He faced many enemies in his life, he could not escape Arya Stark forever. Sandor lamented Arya ordered him to find someone else able to spar with her and ended up so disappointed with the poor lad – a young officer from the Academy who fenced since he was a little boy - she throw her foil against the wall, breaking it.  
So Jaime went to the barber, got a new haircut, shaved, wore his best uniform and stood in the inner court beside the Queen's car, holding the door open for Sansa who recognised his gesture.  
Tyrion greeted his brother and pointed at Arya who was a few steps behind.  
Jamie swiftly opened the door of the second car.  
“This way, Lady Stark.”  
Arya stopped for a moment, looking at him in a strange way, then climbed into, but when Jamie tried to close the door she left her calf dangling.  
“Aren’t you supposed to come?”  
“I’ll use the security car.”  
“Nonsense, this one’s more comfortable and less cramped. And you can’t leave the Princess alone.”  
Jaime looked around, the royal procession was ready to leave the Hall, all was arranged and they could not delay the program.  
At first, they didn’t speak a word; Jaime made a mental calculation of the distance, a drive of ten minutes without traffic or red lights. If all went well, soon it would be over and maybe he could find a way to leave after the official speaks and skip the small reception where the queen would mix for a little while with the people.  
His eyes fixed on the head of the driver, he was aware Arya was leaned against the window, looking at him; a little perspiration on his forehead, five minutes to go still, he counted from one to sixty in his head.  
When Arya asked the driver to stop for a moment in an empty parking lot, Jaime felt his heart beat faster; the princess turned to him.  
“I don’t have many choices. If it is not you it will be someone else, and I would prefer to be friend with the father of my child.”  
She appeared resigned, the weight of House Stark’s future all on her slim shoulders; Jaime missed her, how close they had been during the war, how he felt a little older every time she left for her journeys, a little envious of her freedom, too..  
“You deserve a man better than me.”  
“I need someone I like and I care about. And fertile, we cannot risk another failure. I know about your kids. Sansa offered me to legitimize a bastard if I refuse marriage at all.”  
Jaime couldn’t believe his ears, Sansa was desperate indeed to accept a bastard like Jon had been; he understood Arya’s struggles, but he had his own.  
“I don't want to repeat the same circle. If I had a child it will be mine – well mine and of the mother - not of the Crown or of the Starks. I will do it for Sansa and Tyrion, but also for me.”  
The feelings and the memories of Myrcella and Tommen Jaime had tried to keep at bay broke his dam and he trembled, he was not ashamed to appear fragile and weak. Arya gave the order to drive again, put a hand on his shoulder, and they remained silent until they reached their destination.

ARYA IV

Arya sat beside Sandor and the dogs on the low wall following the stream, along the left wing of the hall. She stole one of his small cigars and lighted it; Sandor was waiting for her to cough and throw it in disgust but Arya kept her face and her chest breathed heavily only when she inhaled the strong aroma.  
She held a crumpled piece of paper in her fist and she continued twisting it.  
“It won’t disappear, whatever you try to crush it.”  
By impulse She thrown it into the water below.  
“This way you won’t see it anymore, but you already read it and now you know the content.”  
Arya took a deep breath, rage was rising in her veins. After Sansa told her what it was expected from her for the kingdom, the letter was simply too much.  
“He’s at it again.”  
“Who?”  
“Gendry Baratheon. Former Gendry Waters, the blacksmith. He won’t leave me be.”  
Tender words, memories of their shared youth, description of the beauty of storm’s end and alays at the end the same marriage request.  
“He do want you!” Sandor stated.  
“I don’t want him. I like him, I cared a lot about him, but I’m not going to be his wife.”  
Sandor laughed loudly.  
“You’re exigent, men don’t think a lot about it. A cunt is just a cunt. Add to it a pretty face and it is enough.”  
Arya snorted, she was used to Sandor’s crude language, they faced the war together and she saved his ass twice, but his scarred face showed concern after she told him about Sansa’s request.  
“Little wolf, I know the Queen is suffering a lot. She loves you so much, it was difficult for her to ask, but your marriage is too important for Winterfell, for the whole North. Maybe after you got the heir you’ll be free to do again what you want.”  
“But I don’t want Gendry!”  
“A cock is like another, you said you care about him.” He looked at her, blinking. “Unless you have someone else in your mind.”  
Arya stared at Sandor, in silence, then she stood abruptly and left.  
Sandor smiled.  
“Poor the fool who is under her radar.” he told his dogs.


	6. To let you go

CERSEI I

Tyrion stood in front of the fire of his current bedchamber, the one Sansa didn’t share with him, an inch of vintage brandy in his favourite glass, lost in memories of a few days before.  
He and Jaime outside the modern building, all concrete and glass, clean and aseptical, wanting to keep problems and people inside its walls, as to conceal them.  
“Doctor Qyburn is waiting for us. I don’t want to be late.”  
Tyrion lifted a hand to prevent his brother’s protests and Sandor opened the car's door.  
“It has been three weeks you refused to come.”  
He had found Jamie inside the Hall small chapel, lighting a candle to the Holy Mother; it was Tommen’s death anniversary, the young man who loved to fly, a member of the best air force squad until that fateful day, when his fighter was hit and crashed in an air battle with the enemy.  
Probably Tommen died immediately, because his companions heard a strong cry of pain on the intercom, then silence; Tomme’ns body was barely recognizable when Jaime arrived at the place of impact.  
Jamie had been so proud of his youngest, they were building a true father-son relationship, Cersei was angry Tommen had chosen Jamie over her, knowing the truth of his parentage; when Tommen travelled up North, she started showing the first symptoms of a mental frailty that after her last child’s death would destroy her.  
“I’d prefer not.”  
Cersei was in the best and most expensive mental clinic Tyrion found close to Wintertown; he wanted to have her close, if her madness was irreversible, she was still his only sister and former Queen, she deserved the respect of a grieving mother.  
Each visit was hard for Jamie, a testament to his failures with his twin.  
Dr. Quiburn lead the Lannisters to a fake mirror, open to the large sitting room where their sister was staying.  
Every time Jamie saw her his heart ached: Cersei was so thin, with wrinkles on her forehead and around her mouth and she behaved like a child, holding three dolls, their lost children.  
Tyrion visited on an average of twice a month, Jamie felt a coward when he blurted out his pathetic excuses to avoid the travel, it was a sort of self preservation; Tyrion disapproval was evident, but his brother accepted the situation, this time Tyrion was determinate.  
“She seems active today.”  
Jamie tried to say something, noticing Cersei was walking around in circles and every time she was in front of the fake mirror he felt her eyes into his skin; it was simply an illusion, Qyiburn told them she couldn’t see the other side.  
“It happens, her general condition is unchanged.” The doctor replied.  
“So there is no hope?”  
“Colonel Lannister, your sister is living in a world of her own, at miracle only could change her and we don't know how to make one.”  
Tyrion touched Jamie's arm.  
“Here she is cared and protected, it’s the best we can do. You have to accept it to move on.”  
On their drive back, Jaime turned to his brother, his eyes wet with tears.  
“I know why you forced me to come.”  
“Jaime, I did it for you.”

SANSA IV

“Do you know who I was?”  
Sansa was tending to her flowers in the conservatory when Jaime asked urgent admission; the Queen appeared unflappable by his request.  
“You were a soldier and now you’re our army commander.”  
“Not what I did, I mean the man I was before.”  
Sansa straightened her back, took off her gardening gloves and put her hands palm flat on the working table; Jaime’s face was deadly serious and she feared he was going to renounce his position and leave Winterfell. Tyrion would be devastated without Jaime, the only close of his kin.  
She offered him a stool and noticed how stiff the colonel sat, on the edge, his good hand gripping the right armpit.  
It wasn’t easy to face the Queen, he spent a few sleepless nights pondering her proposal, the implications, the consequences for all those involved.  
“I did terrible things to protect my family. Do you really want a man like me for your sister? How much Tyrion told you about us Lannisters?  
She heard about the scandal, bits and pieces, words half muttered, half shouted from Tyrion’s lips when he was in a alcohol induced bad mood; the story of a forbidden love that started during childhood.  
Jaime opened his heart to the Queen of the North, because he couldn’t feel wrong about Cersei, whatever explanation or justification of his sexual relationship with her he could offer.  
Sansa listened and saw his face change expression: the discovery of their love, the fear, the novelty for two teenagers, the passion, his pain for her marriage, the choice of bearing his children only, Joffrey.  
Jaime stood and paced the room, than he faced the Queen.  
“The worst I did was regarding her children. Our children. I sired them and played the uncle often away. If I behaved in another way, one of them could be alive, and Cersei would have not lost her mind. ”  
“Tyrion told me she always passed them as her husband’s.”  
“Absolutely. She raised them without any interference from me and I failed all of them. Joffrey behaviour was diagnosed as a psychopath and he ended up murdered in a riot.”  
Sansa knew about the risks of inbreeding. Myrcella was a healthy girl and her death a fatality, Tommen died as a war hero, two of three were good people.  
“It will be a new start this time round. There’s not ..”  
“I can’t. I can’t sleep thinking about it. I’ve seen Cersei last week, she’ll live in a clinic forever.”  
“She had her chances like al of us. Life is harsh, sometimes.”  
He was afraid, how could he explain Sansa his regrets and guilt regarding his former life?  
“Me and your father became rivals for the same position at the old king’s service and my own father did not prevent Ned Stark to be wrongly killed for treason.”  
“You weren’t the one signing the sentence for my father.”  
“But we had been enemies for long. I’m sure Arya doesn’t want me, doesn’t want to be burdened by a cripple. She’s so fierce and brave and if I could I’d give her the world.”  
His eyes up to the ceiling, he felt hollow, tired, the same after he lost his hand, when the physical pain had lessened and it was his mind fighting with the ghost pain.  
Sansa stood and turned around her table, putting a hand on his shoulder to make Jaime look at her.  
“You care about Arya, don’t you?”  
He nodded, unable to speak.  
He cared so much about her and she did not deserve what her sister wanted for her, but Sansa was the queen and they could not oppose. Too many people died for the peace on the kingdoms and the stark were a guarantee to it in the north  
Sansa let her hand grab Jaime’s warm one: respect and care were a good start for him and Arya, like herself and Tyrion had.  
“I’m sorry for the pressure I put on Arya and you, but don’t you think you deserve another chance?” 

BRAN I

Bran Stark visited Wintertown twice a year, spending there around two weeks each; Meera was a Northerner, too, she loved the North and wanted to show their son the family homeland.  
At Winterfell Bran could set off his shoulders the continue pressure of his work.  
But the situation Brand found at his youth home was tense: his sisters were barely speaking to each other, Sansa appeared so algid Bran recognised her usual copying mechanism, so he tried with Arya, who appeared more manageable. His surprise at discovering the nature of the problem was great indeed.  
Arys was confused and glad for Bran’s desire to help ; there were many fears tormenting Major Stark.  
“Would Sansa be jealous if…if I walk around with a babe inside me?”  
“I don not know, Arya, I cannot predict what she’ll feel. you’ll do it for our family, so she must be happy. It’s her wish.”  
“I could leave for a while.”  
“And face a pregnancy all alone? Or take the father with you?”  
“I don’t know, the presumed father is more scared than me!”  
Bran moved his wheel chair closer to take Arya’s hand.  
“What more for Winterfell than a true Stark ruling it?”  
“But it won’t be Sansa’s.”  
“With her own sister as the mother and her husband’s brother as the father, it’d be the closest possible to hers. We never imagined to rule the North, we only wanted our family safe after we destroyed the tyranny. We can build a future for all of us. Arya, children are easy to love, me and Meera never imagined the joy our Rick give us.”  
They watched from the winter garden, shielded by glasses against the cold, where Sansa kept her beloved lemon trees, Jaime and Bronn’s arrival on the land rover; Bronn parked and they walked to the army headquarters offices – the former stables - immersed in a heated conversation: Near the entrance door Bronn lifted his hands in defeat, turned and went to meet Sandor, who was standing outside the canteen with a steaming cup to warm his hands.  
“Bronn is hot tempered, but we trust him.”  
“Yes, Arya, I remember when he took me to my first private club.”  
“Don't tell Sansa! I believed Tyrion took you there.”  
Bran laughed.  
“I am glad I had a few girls before everything went to hell. And Bronn tried to take Jamie with us and he always refused.”  
“He arrived here with Jaime. Do you remember we didn’t trust them at first?”  
Following the scandal about Jaime and Cersei, when Joffrey was killed, his father restrained Jiame from seeing Cersei.  
Tywin Lannister’s power and connections made easy to send Jaime to the north as a punishment, the cold north he hated with all his heart. His only consolation, Tyrion was there, working as chancellor for the North rulers.  
When the old lion died of an heart attack, Cersei was in her first psychiatric hospital and Jaime decided to stay, he devoted himself to the North army under winds of war until the night he heard the bombers’ engines up in the sky. It was barely a rumour but his trained ears were ready, so he awoke Bronn, sleeping exhausted on an armchair and they gave commands to the antiaircraft.  
“He was with me at Moat Calin.” Bran was wounded there and nearly died, Arya remembered the terror of loosing another brother. “he was already our Colonel, one of the best soldiers I met.”  
“With an hand only?”  
“Yes, Arya, hew was worth and he’s still. Not because he was Tywin’s son, Tyrion’s brother or Cersei’s lover. He stood alone proudly, like you stand now.”


	7. Asking for help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, my work is at the worst time of the year and I have few time to carefully polish my fictions. Thanks for your patience. Two new players enter the game.

BRIENNE I

Jaime sat comfortably on a leather armchair in front of Brienne Tarth, the tallest doctor – and woman - Jaime ever met; Dr. Tarth was famous for being the first female medicine graduate of the North, specialized in dealing with traumas and psychological issues and famous for helping a lot a war veterans.  
Jaime was getting restless, sleeping an average of three hours a night, his stump was sore and the impulse to scratch it until he draw blood very strong.  
Doctor Sam gave him a painkiller and a balm for the itching, but he was powerless to help with Jaime’s demons. Fearing to see the Colonel drowning in alcohol his misfortunes like Tyrion – the brothers were more similar they wanted to admit - Sam forced him to see a specialist, swearing that Brienne was a doctor dedicated to the core to her mission and he had often worked with her, appreciating her moral code.  
War marred Brienne, too, a long scar on her neck, a bomb fragment, she told Jaime when he stared at it during their first session.  
“I don’t fell my skin anymore there.”  
“I still feel my hand.”  
“You miss a part of you, it’s not just a scar on the flesh, it’s your whole as a human being that is marred now.”  
He looked at Brienne, the doctor’s serious behaviour was conquering him more than lots of previous acquaintances had ever been.  
It was easy to speak to a professional, explain Cersei’s need of control, how his sister subtly planned his whole life at her advantage, something Jaime realised only when it was too late, when he was deeply in love and lust for her.  
“I wonder who I am now, I’ve lost my family, my children, my hand, things that were important for me and I took for granted.”  
Telling the truth was easy looking into Brienne’s blue eyes, she was a doctor, not a judge, not accusing, nor absolving him from the incest.  
Jaime hold the blame for the children’s curse, a few people knew they were his, but Jaime didn’t care the negative opinion about his secret fatherhood; he’d never regret they were born, only that he didn’t took an active role in their life.  
“Probably your dreams returned spurred by a reason. Is there something that worries you?”  
“I’ve had a marriage proposal, from the Queen, to wed her sister.”  
“Major Arya Stark? Our war hero?”  
“The very Arya. Do you know her?”  
“I’ve had the pleasure. We both are in an unusual role for a woman.”  
“Did she ask your help? Talked about ..us?” Brienne smiled briefly.  
“It’s unethical to reveal other patient’s names, suffice to say the Queen decided to improve woman’s education and she founded a committee, we’re both members.”  
“Arya’s strong.”  
“Indeed.”  
“I’m into strong girls, always been.”  
Brienne was sure Jaime had a deep respect for the young Stark, but the scars from his past threatened to cast a spell on the new Jaime, who established himself as a respected Army Commander.  
“I’m afraid to leave Cersei behind if I think about another woman, She was my only love.”  
“Your sister is in a place where she's treated for her mental illness. It’s very difficult, from a professional point of view, that she’d recover. Are you planning to mourn and atone for her forever?”  
Jamie remained silent for a long time, it was still too raw.  
“Let's get back to the Marriage. Is Cersei the only thing that prevents you from it?”  
“I’m afraid to fall in a trap.”  
“A trap from Arya?”  
“No! She’d never been able. She’s too direct and honest.”  
Arya deserved more than an old soldier without a hand, she could have a chance with someone like Gendry, a younger man, a whole man.  
“If Arya wants to marry this Gendry, do you think the Queen would disapprove the choice? If Queen Sansa need a heir from her sister, is the father so relevant?”  
“I think no. But Arya doesn’t want Gendry, she never talked about him with me or Tyrion.”  
“So it is the marriage structure you feel trapped into, not the woman?”  
“I gave up marriage and fatherhood for my sister, I choose military life, the tradition for spares, not heirs. My father never forgave me for doing so. When the explosion took my hand, he blamed only me.”  
His house was lost, Lannister seat destroyed by an air raid, the traces of his happy childhood there when his mother was alive were gone.  
Money, land, earldom were nothing compared to the best years of his life, when Joanna Lannister was alive; she could have changed the course of events, stopped the twins going the hard way. But the pas was immutable and Jaime had to face it and conquer his fears.  
Brienne took notes, Jaime observed her hands, long fingers and a neat calligraphy, like she was writing something very important, something that had to last; he realised it was indeed important, it was about his life, his only life and this doctor, this tall woman had the power to help him for real.  
He let his feelings out, sure Brienne would never betray him.  
“It is something inside me. I…I simply gave up everything, and now I’m afraid to start again.” 

BRONN I

The Land Rover with Bronn at the wheel was the third vehicle - straight behind the second truck - of the long line going South, made of trucks full to the brim of food and goods for the poorest Kingdom.  
Bronn was smoking and trying to make conversation with a reluctant Jaime-  
The colonel had convinced Tyrion to be responsible of the expedition, the Queen’s husband decided with Bran to send goods and a team of agronomists to introduce new crops and improve the agriculture of the South. People were starving, a long draught shortly after the end o the war worsened their condition.  
“It wasn’t necessary for you to come.”  
“ I like to be out of Winter town for a little while.”  
The Army had stored everything into containers from the main Northern docks and then from various warehouses, farms, orchards; a week long hard work for everyone involved in collecting the helps.  
The Army also provided drivers and an armed escort for the expedition and the Colonel insisted with his brother to command his men.  
“Is this strange desire to spend days on a noisy car like this and eat dust and miles related to a young lady you are involved with?”  
Bronn laughed and tried to drink a sip from his silver flask, Jaime prevented him: he wanted to arrive alive; the local single malts were one of the reasons Bronn liked his new country a lot. That and the castles in beautiful positions, often on the shore of a lake.  
When he discovered a lot of families owned a distillery beside a family manor, he could not wait to find a Northern beauty heiress to a castle all for himself.  
“We have fought so many battles together I know you better than myself by now. Trust me: Northern women are good.”  
“It is getting contagious. Tyrion with Sansa and now you. Have you already tried some pale ladies?”  
Bran nodded, Jaime remained silent for a while; the topic was serious.  
“She is not a common girl. She's the queen's sister, my former deputy commander and one of the best strategist I ever met.”  
Bronn looked at Jaime pretending to be angry at him for his stubbornness.  
“All the more to marry her immediately. Do you want someone else to steal her from you?”  
“It is not a love match.” The Lannister was a mule, beside love and romance there were the practical aspects of everyday life, those easy to manage once the initial passion has faded away.  
“Was it love what you had with her, or was it a form of control? Cersei played on you like a puppet and you well know it.”  
Bronn hit the wheel with his palm to make Jamie understand how he could end up with nothing at all: voices about the former chief gunner wanting to marry Arya were spreading at court and Gendry was young, strong and whole.  
“Sandor Clegane says she has refused him many times, but if you delay your decision for too long she could be pressured to change her mind. Remember they were good friends during the war.”  
Jamie looked out of the window, topping his fake hand on the door handle.  
A competitor was something Jaime hadn’t predicted, he pictured Gendry in his head: a lasting friendship, trust, another royal line and an heir that could unite two Kingdoms.  
If there was a remote chance of Arya wanting Gendry, he’d stepped back for ever, but if she showed no attraction al all to the young man it meant Jaime and Arya were even. The little voice inside his head was making a list of Gendry’s weak points and when he started making comparisons with himself he realised he was getting jealous.  
“Are you sure about Sandor’s words?”  
“Go ask him if you want.”


	8. Travelling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, real life slowed just a little, but at the same time the characters wanted to talk so this work is getting longer than I assumed.  
> If someone volounteers to beta my english, I think I could write faster, thanks, especially because of the new ideas that form in my mind.

JAIME IV 

The war changed Jaime’s opinion about the North, his life as Army Commander suited him.  
No more tedious meetings with boring fat kings, brief councils with his brother - the real holder of power - long hours of work, stolen moments with Cersei and quick glances at his secret children.  
All those responsibilities his father tried to force on him were a distant memory and the sensation of being owner of his own destiny – no more a soldier for the king, a missed heir for his father or a stud for Cersei – of being evaluated for the good things he did in battles, gave him a new impulse in his steps.  
Like the new spring that was slowly bringing Winterfell town and the north toward a better future, with Sansa’s decision to make a tour of the kingdom to visit her lords in their manors. Arya had to plan for her in advance, mapping her itinerary with Jaime as her escort.  
They took leave early in the morning, on Arya’s jeep and Tyrion stood to see the departure under the entrance porch with a smile that was more a smirk, while Sandor put their bags on the back seats; Nymeria had felt the imminent separation and after licking Arya’s face had run away to the orchard.  
“They set a trap for us.” Arya muttered through clenched teeth, Jaime agreed with a brief nod.  
Tyrion wished them a safe journey and remembered both to call for updates; he smiled, like a cat who ate the proverbial canary.  
When the engine started, Jaime looked at his brother for a last glance, then turned to Arya.  
“He hopes for updates of a certain kind. The one I’d never want to share details with him.”  
She murmured what seemed a forced approval of his words.  
“Does he hope we do the deal on the road? That I came back already pregnant?”  
“I don’t care about his wishes, let’s leave, we’ve been scrutinized enough. While I was away with Bronn the change felt good, trust me. Besides, you got a good chance to ride your jeep.” He lifted his fake hand, no way to help her do the driving; he read in a magazine about a new automatic gearbox, a prototype, without it he’d never drive again.  
Arya loved her car a lot, she had found the abandoned jeep rusty and with flat tyres in an old warehouse under a pile of rugs and logs years before and spent a lot of money to put it on the road again. Never she guessed why or how it ended up there, only that no one claimed it so it was all hers.  
The jeep was cold, the flaps were worn out and with small holes near one of the straps tying them on the passenger side and Jaime felt the chilled rush of air whenever Arya turned on the road leading up to the hills.  
Traces of melted snow, the beginning of a long thaw.  
Sheep and cow herds were leaving the farms to reach the high pastures, tractors – made of new shining metal with roaring engines, no more horse trained - were plowing the fields, a big change since animals were the only power source to saw the soil.  
The hills North exposed were bare with trees but full of blooming heather, a carpet of nuances from white to purple.  
Arya was concentrated on the wheel, Jaime admired the landscape from the plastic window full of scratches; it was breathtaking, but he could not care less.  
The silence between Jaime and Arya was heavy, she let out half words, half grunts, he imagined she was cursing her sister and all the crazy situation they were into.  
He kept the map ion his knees, Tyrion prepared the itinerary on a block notes Jaime had in his pocket.  
Jame offered his help when Arya stopped at a crossroad, the pole with road signs was so twisted it was hard to decide if going straight or turn left; she was determined to find alone the right way and Jaime remained silent when after a few miles they ended up in a farm and had to turn back.  
They stopped at a inn for the first night and Arya ate keeping her eyes low, not acknowledging Jaime’s presence and his attempts at conversation, then she retired in her room. Jaime observed the people at the pub annexed to the inn, he felt lost in the middle of northern customers and only the innkeeper and the vicar took enough pity of him to start a conversation with a pint of dark stout, that Jaime politely accepted and drank half only; the men clearly wanted to talk, Jaime had been recognised, not many the occasions to host a national war hero and the Princess.  
When the vicar left, Jaime warmed his hand in front of the huge fire and took a book about the local fauna with a worn out cover from one of the shelves, before reaching his room on the first floor, beside Arya’s.  
The book suited him, full of drawings and pictures – his dyslexia always a burden at school - but soon it was heavy in his hands and he closed his eyes, the bed was double, the mattress soft, the room warm.  
The pit, not a dark crypt.  
People shouting and cheering, not the silence of the dead burned for centuries under the vaults.  
The big beast, on its back legs, mouth open, teeth bared, near the mad king and his gunsmith holding carefully the bomb.  
A wooden sword, not the ancient spear he took from the wall to pierce the torso of both men in a single, powerful, desperate throw.  
No defence for himself, he was bare, without the old rusted shield he used to defuse the bomb. He touched the wires, time was running fast. He could save them, all of them., the children on the streets, the families sat around the table, the people inside the hospital…  
He was close, so close, just a wire still connected to the timer then…  
The huge bear clawed at his hand, tearing it from his body while the bomb exploded…  
Jaime awoke with a huge scream, drenched in his sweet, shaking until the door opened and Arya was beside his bed, hair messed up, wearing a blue flannel pyjamas and fuzzy slippers.  
“Are you well?” She asked, showing concern and forcing Jaime to lean back onto the pillows. He could offer a nod only, his heart was thumping and he grabbed the stump, covered by the sleeve.  
“Want to talk about it?”  
“It’s not necessary. It will pass.”  
Arya was not convinced, but she wasn’t going to put up a fight in the middle of the night with a very stubborn man.  
“You were waking up the whole inn with your cries. The owner was outside and I told him it's a recurrent war nightmare you have.”  
Jaime nodded, unable to speak.  
Arya took the armchair from under the desk and sat near jaime, grabbing from the bed a blanket to wrap it over her legs.  
“I’ll stay there until you sleep again.”  
“And if I can’t?”  
Arya took a pillow from his bed and put it behind her neck.  
“I don’t care if I wake up with a stiff back tomorrow morning.”

BRIENNE II 

Brienne and Tyrion’s impressive height difference did not prevent them from being close, a friendship that helped Tyrion to navigate every attempt by his mother-in-law to destroy his Marriage.  
Catelyn Stark’s trust in dr. Tarth was complete: the two women spent long hours discussing about Sansa’ past experience with men, how her first husband abused her and the presumed family friend, whose name Catelyn refused to ever speak again, basically sold him Sansa’s maidenhead for money. Brienne supported Tyrion’s good heart, until she convinced Catelyn of a truce.  
Brienne offered support and camaraderie, never a professional help; she declared it was unethical between friends and proposed Tyrion in case of need doctor Luwyin, who taught her at university; the younger Lannister felt time spent with the tall doctor refreshing and stimulating.  
“Salsa is determined this time.”  
“She has got her reasons, Tyrion.”  
“But she is messing up all our lives. four of us. I am nervous and worried.”  
Brienne smiled, her friend was so in love with Sansa, caring and attentive, that she sometimes envied in the Queen.  
“You are all grown up people. you can rely on Sansa’s judgement.”  
“And if she doesn't love me anymore? We are not sharing intimacy since her last miscarriage.”  
Brienne was sad, Tyrion’s distress was written on his face, his features were contorted.  
She wanted to comfort and reassure him, but matters of the heart were complicated.  
Her science couldn’t reach every aspect of people’s life, sometimes a hug and a declaration of love was more helpful than a therapy session. She understood his frailty, who else would love me, was Tyrion's constant fear. The same Brienne had experimented after her betrothed Renly – an engagement that lasted a few weeks only when she was nineteen - died during a pre war riot that escalated to a bomb exploding in a crowded market.  
Since his death she refused any commitment and concentrated on her studies only.  
“I think Sansa needs time, Tyrion, more than you can imagine. Its hard for you but you simply have to accept it for now.”

ARYA V 

“I am sorry. It wasn’t my intention to disturb everyone at the inn.”  
“Forget it. Do you dream often?”  
“Too often. A variation of the same dream.”  
“Would you like to tell me about it?”  
Jamie's face showed surprise, the first time ever someone asked about his difficult nights, or the first time he was close to another human being beside Cersei.  
They were driving late in the afternoon, the sun was setting under the moors in one of the most secluded valleys of the North, belonging to a House betrayed by the Frey clan during the mourning of the last Lord’s wife, with the silent approval of Jamie's father and the deep shame of Jaime himself.  
The ruined and half burned castle stood on a small lake at their left and Jamie asked Arya to stop along the panoramic route, he wanted to talk.  
The situation was confused for both, it was difficult to find two people so negative regarding marriage and so positive regarding duty and honour.  
If they were in the Middle Age, alternative to a forced union would be a convent for her and a war in a foreign land for him, but in modern times both were too aware of the implications of their wedding; going away was not an option, escape a defeat.  
Jaime has faced the mad king alone and Ned Stark, the first to enter the throne room, forcing the door open, had never asked Jamie's version of the facts.  
Arya thanked Jaime for his honesty after he concluded his tale.  
“I’ve hoped for a very long time that your father changed his opinion about me. And now it is too late. What would he think of us now.”  
“Sansa and Brandon trust you.”  
“I wish things were for different for you. I respect you too much to see you as an incubator for the heir only.  
“I’m not a mare!”  
“And I’m not a stud.”  
“They’ve cornered us.”  
“Clever move by them.”  
“So now?” She briefly stared at him, before turning her focus again on the landscape.  
Jaime’s impulse was to hug protectively Arya and tell her she’d be free to do whatever she please, but their situation had already chained them and he knew their duties.  
“It’s time to take a decision. If you are interested in someone you consider worth of you, I’ll congratulate with him. On the contrary, if you aren’t, I’ll be honoured to be the father of your child. Rest assured, I’ll never put pressure on you, not disrespect you ever.” The decision was Arya and only hers.  
Arya turned to the window, then by impulse left the car and walked fast to the shore to sat on a flat stone. Jaime switched off the engine, tucked up his coat and took Arya’s from the back seats, the weather was humid and cold.  
Looking at Arya’s back, he had the desire to read her thoughts, to know how her brain was working and if she needed time, the only thing they lacked.


	9. Confessions and revelations

SANDOR

Robb Stark’s widow, Margaery Tyrrel - theirs a very short marriage, childless - had returned to her old house in the so called “garden kingdom” for the abundance of flowers, after Robb’s demise; her family matriarch, old lady Olenna, dowager Countess, wasted no time to find another match for her beautiful granddaughter.  
The betrothal with Tommen, neè Baratheon, now Lannister, was unlucky, too, due to the war; she cared a lot about the young man whose life had suddenly turned upside down with the revelation of his true parentage. After his heroic death Margaery decided to use her qualifications to teach in a girls’ public school awaw from her hometown to prevent another engagement; she swore to herself to marry by her own choice only.  
During school breaks she loved to visit Sansa, their friendship was strong and they both liked to work in the conservatory of spend the evenings embroidering.  
The North Queen wrote her a letter shortly before the spring holidays to be sure Margaery would visit Winterfell, it was a request of help clearly written between the lines.  
Sandor drove the Queen to the train station; he read on Sansa’s face the impatience to meet her best friend, he appreciated Margaery’s wit and humour a lot.  
Sandor wasn’t afraid to be direct with Arya – they protected each other in hard circumstances and he kicked her butt when she lead a commando to destroy a dangerous and protected artillery battery - but his total devotion to the Queen made him nervous and timid, a strong contrast with his appearance and personality.  
Sansa was clutching her scarf and biting her lips, Sandor took a deep breath and decided it was time to speak; Winterfell deserved some happiness at last.  
“Your Grace.”  
“Yes, Sandor?”  
“I know I should be silent driving you.”  
“Tell me when you have been silent before.”  
Sandor pouted, careful not to be glimpsed by Sansa from the rear view mirror.  
Their banter was common since Sandor started working for the Starks; Sansa knew he had a soft spot for her, nicknaming her “little bird”, but he’d never trespassed the boundaries of respect and subordination. He was although allowed to speak freely with Sansa and Arya.  
“I’m worried about you, Lord Tyrion and the Princess.”  
“Sandor, it’s all right.”  
“It is not, your grace!”  
The formal title meant Sandor wasn’t going to drop the subject.  
“Things are getting complicated, your husband is sad, Arya refused to talk with me and you never welcomed Margaery at the station before.”  
Sandor’s worried tone lead the Queen to be honest with herself, she trusted the man sat at the driver seat like few others in the world; she lloked at the scenery, they were close to the hospital her parents decided to build years before for the poor.  
“Sandor, it is a mess. I hurt Tyrion and Arya and I don’t know what to do.”  
Listening to his Queen’s confession, Sandor gripped the wheel with his huge and wrinkled hands, he had been right, his little bird was suffering and she didn’t deserve it.  
“Do you love Lord Tyrion?”  
“With all my heart.”  
“Ask him to forgive you, don’t be afraid. He adores you. He’s helping you with Arya, isn’t he?”  
“He has planned a strategy, but maybe we’re too insistent.”  
“I know you sent away the princess and the Colonel to put them together. It may work, I think Arya isn’t indifferent to him.”

MARGAERY 

Margaery read on Sansa's face something was not going well; the Queen’s ability to hide her feelings with the court and the public didn’t work with her small circle of relatives and friends and Margaery had a natural instinct to read people.  
And Sansa had left the hall to meet Margaery, meaning there was more than an urgent desire to see one of her most trusted friend.  
After a hug and a kiss on the cheek they settled on the back seats of the car.  
“I am so glad you came.”  
“After your letter I could not refuse you a visit.”  
Margaery used to be diplomatic, instead of a direct approach, but this time she went straight to the point.  
“what's wrong?”  
Sansa took her friend’s hand, squeezing it.  
“It's a mess. I have lost a baby. Again. And I'm scared of Tyrion.”  
“Are you scared of him? he kisses the ground you stand on. he will never hurt you.”  
Sansa explained how she refused her husband and how he decide to sleep in another room. It was a blow for Margaery, who had witnessed Sansa first marriage and the abuse she endured, during her stay at Winterfell married to Robb.  
“Few men are better than Tyrion, your own brother, my beloved husband, was too hot tempered. Tyrion shines between people, he’s intelligent, clever, funny.”  
“I know, I feel bad for him, I wish things were different.”  
“You’ll tell me everything – and I mean it – in front of a cup of strong tea. There’s nothing a cup can’t mend, Granny always says.” 

ARYA IV

The ferryboat was small and rolling, strong winds on the strait, gathering dark clouds full of rain; thank God the smell of a cattle wagon full of sheep transferred from the mainland was kept at bay by the low temperature.  
Arya wore a scarf to keep her hat in place and grabbed a male jacket – probably Jon’s or Robb’s, considering how old it was – from the back seats; Jaime was suffering, his face pale and Arya feared he’d vomit or faint.  
He wasn’t used, by his own admission, to travel by sea; they were reaching the Bear island, home of bears and warriors, who were the more fearsome Arya had always wondered.  
Jaime sat, eyes closed, breathing deeply, on a bench beside the car, sucking a mint candy a passenger gave him with the assurance it was helpful for sea sickness.  
So Arya stood alone on the deck and admired the landscape; during her travels she went south or west, never north, never cold and rain, sullen companions for her whole life.  
She needed a distraction and returned to Jaime, asking him to pass her Tyrion’s notes he kept in his coat pocket to read about the Mormonts. Their island was ruled by women, after all the men died in the war; it was a repetition of other powerful houses, forced to rely on females only.  
Arya read aloud so that Jaime could hear, to distract him from his uneasiness, then she remembered one of the young ladies was named after Lyanna Stark.  
“My aunt used to say the dowager lady is a determinate woman, probably the same for her daughters, as Tyrion writes.”  
“Many girls had to grow fast and without fathers or male relatives around.”  
Jaime cursed himself and his sickness for remembering Ned to Arya; the Glovers spoke about him two days before and a veil of sadness was on her face whey they left, furthermore in three days, meeting Ned’s old regiment in the East coast base, surely the soldiers would share with the Princess poignant memories of her late father.  
He glanced at how tight she hold the block and by impulse put his good hand over her left; she accepted the gesture without complaining and Jaime was glad, he felt forgiven for his carelessness.  
After half an hour the ferry reached its destination, Jaime was better because he had relieved his stomach of his breakfast. He was sure Cersei would have considered him weak and laughed at him, but Arya had only expressed concern for him and stood outside the bathroom door until he exited, pale and sweaty.  
“How do you feel now?”  
He breathed the fresh air and accepted the handkerchief Arya passed him to clean his face.  
“I’ve been better. But I’ve been worse, too. Let’s start the car and go to the Mormonts.”

LYANNA 

“I hoped Lyanna Stark had also a girl, so my daughters and hers could be friends like we were, but after Jon’s birth she devoted to him and never married. And then the war….”  
“Mother, the past is past, the Queen will arrive in a short time and our house must welcome her properly.”  
Lady Maerge Mormont bowed her head, stubbornness was a trait of Lyanna Mormont since she was an infant, confirmed by rigid posture beside the main door, waiting for the princess.  
“We have to show lady Arya that we’re a faithful and trusted northern family.” Lyanna stated.  
After five daughters and her husband’s death, Maerge had put all her hopes in her last child as the future ruler of house Mormont; the others weren’t interested as Lyanna in Boar island.  
A marriage was needed, for all girls, but who would want Lya with her strong personality? Lyanna Stark wrote her the Starks had the same problems with Arya, the new generations were more assertive and the tradition of arranged marriages was fading.  
Lyanna was eager to meet the young princess, their last interaction around a decade before as children; when the old jeep arrived, there was no doubt for Maerge Arya was her aunt’s portrait.  
She wore dark trousers and an old military jacket, a pair of mountain boats and a waterproof hat, to avoid the rain, completed her outfit.  
Her companion captured everybody’s attention, the tall and slender man wearing a long olive military coat, his ranks impossible to guess, fighting to open an umbrella to shelter Arya with an hand only.  
Arya told him something than ran the distance to the entrance, the man did not care to wet his hair while he closed the car and climbed the steps to the entrance.  
He was very handsome, from every perspective and his appearance not marred by the prostatic hand that revealed him as Colonel Lannister.  
At dinner a bunch of young Mormonts females appeared from every corner of the house to join their guests; after, when everyone moved into the sitting room for a glass of porto, Lyanna joned Arya on the couch, the others whirled around Jaime’s armchair. His quick glances to Arya showed surprise more than complacency, he’d never imagine to be the centre of attention for a bunch of nubile ladies. Years ago he’d enjoy himself with witty remarks, teasing his audience, a proud leonine façade, but he was older now and there were stopped by Lyanna’s serious gaze and Arya’s uneasiness at observing him surrounded by women better dressed and prettier than her. Lyanna didn’t take part in the collective attempt at wooing Colonel Lannister and Arya felt an immediate empathy with the young Lady.  
“It seems my family is ready for a different kind of hunt. But I think the prey’s already been captured.”  
Arya was speechless, tethering between a fast remark and a feigned indifference, refusing to admit Lyanna’s ability at guessing the relationship between herself and the Colonel.  
The idea to deny it was futile, because soon Lyanna put her glass down and bent her head a little toward Arya.  
“He’s handsome and polite, with the fame of a war hero. I heard voices about his past, but there’s a shortage of available men.” She explained Arya her Ldy Mother’s desperate search for suitable husbands; with five daughters and all the nieces to marry, a man like Jaime was a great opportunity.  
“I’ve fought with him. I was his deputy commander.”  
Lyanna pointed at her relatives. “Those girls aren’t good for him, he’ll get bored in a week. I’d be interested in a man like him, but you got him first. I pass. Be careful, next time you might find someone who doesn’t care about honour al loyalty like me.”  
Arya’s confusion increased, a part of her wanted to tell Lyanna to go and have her chance with Jaime, the other- the one who during the whole evening had observed the young maidens’ battle for the lion’s attention – desired to thank the young Mormont for her gracious retire and for making her see things in a new light.


	10. The first kiss

ARYA VII

Arya found Jaime easily. Too easily. A strange sensation, getting to know someone so well to forecast his whereabouts.  
She felt the same only toward her dear cousin Jon; they had been inseparable during childhood, not caring the circumstances of his illegitimate birth.  
The Godswood chapel garden was the Colonel’s favourite place, its trees again green with tiny spring leaves and little blooms.  
Dogs and wolves’ paws left traces on the grass, small mounds of fresh soil means animals were digging their underground refuges.  
Jaime was leaning against one of the trees surrounding the building, looking at the sun high in the sky.  
She observed him from the jeep, her short legs up to the cockpit, apparently a relaxed pose, but her mind was in full gear; he was handsome for his age, tall and slender, riding, fencing, walking like a younger man. Arya noticed the way his short hair captured the light, the twinkling of the prostatic hand, his unconscious reflex to touch his right forearm, to search for the missing part, when no one was noticing.  
He was dangerous, she was feral. His years of experience were longer than hers, with an age gap wider than between Sansa and Tyrion. Arya thought about Gendry, her stubbornness once could match his bluntness, but now she needs more, shedid things Gendry could never accept in a woman, travelled to new places, enjoyed freedom and they have grown apart.  
Falling into his desire for her would mean get herself in a golden cage and throw off the key for ever.  
This man walked not her paths, but others too similar to be completely unknown to her  
And Arya wanted absolute honesty between them before taking the ultimate decision.  
“Did you love Cersei? Or was it just sex?”  
Their exchange started with questions on the incoming Winterfell horse races, Jaime startled at the sudden change of topic.  
Why was Arya asking about his sister in such a direct way?  
His former self would have find some witty comments so that she would retreat, blushing, embarassed; how many young women he treated that way to remain alone, to keep himself for Cersei only?  
But Arya was not silly, or clumsy or stupid, her cold grey eyes were into his, really into and Jaime felt she was able to read the truth. Maybe her training, harsh and brutal, made Arya sensible like her brother Bran, maybe she shared those abilities. Too many times Bran gave people proofs he was above average, until a soldier from the emerald isle declared Brian was a witcher, able to read minds and heal people from diseases.  
“I loved her, since I remember. When Joffrey was killed I started loosing her. He was doomed since the beginning, Cersei put too many expectations on him, Robert was the worst father ever and I was forced to stay away.”  
“And the others?”  
“They had Tyrion, he helped them a lot. He could be close. I couldn’t. My remorse is for Myrcella and Tommen.”  
She was observing him, casting brief glances at Jaime, his face, his body, the missing hand – not with morbous curiosity but assessing him, like she was going to buy a horse at the fair - and Jaime wondered if he was worth the bargain.  
Then she stood closer, lifting a hand to touch his fake one, up the wrist to the armpit until he could feel the touch and shivered for the boldness she was showing.  
“I want to see your wound.”  
Jaime lifted his riGht arm with the prosthetic hand up in the air.  
“This isn’t the wound.”  
“It’s not a beautiful things to see.”  
Jaime answered, lowering his gaze, the cripples he met at the hospital - for medications and long useless physiotherapy sessions - they all agreed the raw wound was disgusting for a lot of relatives or friends. Women, especially wives, were repulsed by the stumps, especially missing hands.  
“I’ve seen war wounds and you got it for an act of courage.”  
He nodded, he used to free the stump when alone or sleeping, sometimes he felt the urge to scratch it so badly he throw the damned fake hand on a couch or on his bed and after sat cradling his damaged arm.  
“I was a nurse and a soldier. After we marry, you cannot hide it from me forever.”  
Jaime’s heart pumped in his chest, so it was set, he’d become Arya’s husband; a weight was off his shoulders, his destiny traced and Jaime felt relieved, the choice has been made, the relief was exquisite.  
“I can’t refuse anything to my future bride, can I?”  
He unlaced the straps of the fake hand, pulled off the silk cover and hold the stump with his good hand.  
Arya stared at it, curious but respectful., she had seen soldiers without both legs or a full arm, delirious for the fever, their wounds raw and red, but she never saw the outcome and the scars after many years.  
“Does it hurt now?”  
“When the weather changes abruptly or if I am very tired. Then I feel the ghost fingers.”  
Arya took the cover and put it back on, tying the straps around his wrist, wanting to learn how.  
When she swiftly placed her hand around his neck, pulled him down and kissed him, it was a shock for Jaime, but her lips were strangely soft and warm and he feel his head spin and stood still at first, then his good hand was at her waist and he answered her kiss.  
For how long he restrained himself from being so close to someone, to keep his defences up? She was wanton and strong and her back was a sum of muscles, her front soft, pressed against him; their lips parted and she gave an experimental push of her hips, grinding against his and Arya smiled when he pushed back a little.  
Another kiss, quite brutal in her eagerness, but an honest attempt, his lips opened and her tongue fund a way.  
Jaime was weak, Arya was in total control of the exchange and he let himself go, this was his first embrace with another woman, quite a green boy after having bedded his sister for twenty years, but arya was so determinate he just followed the flood.  
Then an abrupt stop, arya moved backward, their faces an inch apart, she licked her lips, her pink tongue run over to soothe the bruise his teeth left on her.  
He had no remarks to offer, no ways to mock her impulse, and she simply turn and walked away, keeping her head up and never looking back. 

JAIME V

“It’s not easy for me.” Jaime took advantage of Arya out with Brienne at a theatrical performance for Wintertown hospital to speak with Sansa and Tyrion alone.  
Arya has informed the Queen of her decision and the protocol for a royal engagement started; the bride-to-be refused to be involved in the organization, Sansa could plan with Podrick and satisfy her romantic streak, while Jaime told Tyrion he trusted him completely.  
“Brother, no one ever said that.”  
Jaime stood up and turned around the couch, to approach the window; he still believed Tyrion and Sansa’s request had been half perfect logic and half pure madness.  
“She kissed me, the little wolf had the boldness to start a kiss.”  
The Queen and Tyrion casted glances at him, it was so Arya’s to be brave and daring.  
“Did you kiss her back?”  
Tyrion asked with a glint in his eyes.  
Jaime nodded, blushing a little. “Later she told me she wanted to test me.”  
“It’s curious. My sister wasn’t much interested in boys, before.”  
“So you… you … think Arya is still a maiden?”  
For Sansa it was difficult to believe Jamie was so naive regarding Arya’s love life.  
From a men who had been in a long relationship she expected more straightforwardness but Tyrion - behaving opposite his older brother before their marriage - was sure Jamie's commitment to Cersei had been exclusive and so Jamie never had those flirtations so typical of young men. Arya was a maiden and Jaime quite the same, despite his past.  
From their night conversations, shortly after the war, Sansa recalled a kiss with Gendry, but she never asked the circumstances of the exchange, who started it and when; their youth romances had been quite private until a few weeks ago, when Sansa come up with the marriage proposal.  
Jaime was still waiting for an answer, his fake hand hit the wooden table, making a loud sound, uneasiness in his posture evident for his relatives.  
The war changed so many things, especially the way people valued life, being so close to death. How many spent a night under the bombs, waiting for the final attack, in the arms of someone they cared? Someone they lost?  
“Probably, but I think she is more than eager to experiment. I won’t worry, if I were you, Jaime. I’m sure Arya had already planned carefully her first time.”  
Jaime grabbed his glass and drank the whiskey in a single gesture, not caring the burning in his throat.


	11. A difficult visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, a new character enters the game.  
> As always, comments are welcomed.  
> I must confess Tyrion at the window was a tribute to ROTD when mr Stevens is looking at the garden from inside.

CATELYN 

Lady Catelyn Stark took a sudden decision and kept it to herself, so no one at Winterfell Hall knew the mother of the Queen was arriving until Tyrion spotted the black car on the driveway, lined up with blooming pink hedgerows, quite a contrast with the massive dark vehicle approaching early in the afternoon.  
From the library window he observed Podrick greeting Lady Stark at the entrance; she barely acknowledge the secretary and headed straight inside, leaving a confused Podrick behind. Sansa had called her mother to inform her of Arya’s betrothal before the news was made official and Tyrion was sure it was the reason for the visit. When lady Cately received the news, she remained speechless on the other side of the phone and Tyrion looked at his wife, holding the phone with a furrowed bow, because hers mother was angry.  
Arya was away at the Freys to solve once and forever a territorial dispute about pastures, Jaime was in Jon’s lands for a military exercitation so Tyrion and Sansa had to face the music alone.  
His mother in law was a determinate and strong woman and a clash of will between mother and daughter was never pleasant, as Tyrion had already witnessed; Podrick appeared at the door and Tyrion read on his face how worried he was.  
Reluctantly the Lord of Winterfell put down his last crime novel – a kind of reading he had become addicted to - and stood; when he reached Sansa’s conservatory the discussion had already began.  
“..consider whom you’re selling Arya to! You married a Lannister after the war and we were simply glad to be alive so no one opposed your foolish idea.”  
“Your opinion about my marriage is well know, mother! I remember you introduced me to Lord Baelish and he to my first husband. You were happy when I married Ramsay.” She spat out Petyr’s name like she was tasting rancid food.  
“What are you implying?”  
Catelyn went on defensive too easily, Sansa hit rhe sore point of her mother’s old beau.  
“Nothing, but you cannot compare a sadistic man like Ramsay Bolton to a respected lord. You hate Tyrion because he is a Lannister. Whatever Tyrion achieved, you despise him.”  
“Jaime Lannister was also the reason Bran was wounded! Do you forget he was under Jaime’s direct command when the sniper caught him at Moat Calin battle?”  
“Bran’s tanks gained a great victory there and it was an unfortunate circumstance, Bran’s equipage failed to protect him. Put the blame on them if you need a culprit with such intensity.  
“We’re not meant to deal with the Lannisters. Neither mixing blood with then is successful. Look at you two, five years and no living child …. At your age I was married with two already. Do you think his brother has a better seed? Will he produce a dwarf or another psycho like Joffrey?”  
Catelyn was shouting now, unaware of Tyrion who approached the duo from behind; his rubber soles did not give him away.  
Sansa gripped the edge of the desk and her eyes darted fire:. enough was enough, her mother was throwing in her face her sterility and insulting her husband.  
Before Sansa could utter a word, Tyrion sat on his stool – the special one Sansa made for him with a concealed step to make easier for him to climb over it - and faced Catelyn, not frightened at all by her.  
“Lady Stark, the Queen has informed you of the betrothal, it was a courtesy act in consideration of your position. But the decision is Arya and ..”  
“Decision? You know who he is, that brother of yours? A sister fucker. A father of three bastards.”  
Cately spit out her rage, towering over Tyrion; Sansa hold her breath: Tyrion determined to stand by her and her leadership was a great contrast from his usual controlled self. Her husband was dark with fury.  
“My brother paid a hard price for the mistakes he did in his life and he redeemed himself with the war he fought for you. My nephew died for you, a brave and strong soldier.”  
Sansa stepped into the exchange, she had heard enough.  
“Mother, we are both aware Arya won’t ever marry against her will and I remember how insistent you were with Robb to marry a girl he didn’t like before Maergery. So don’t accuse me of selling my sister away. I’m only asking her to think about this kingdom and a war hero is probably better for her than a lazy nobleman who spend his days at the club, smoking and drinking, or worse whoring.”  
“It is not necessary to marry to have a child!”  
Sansa’s face remained unperturbed at Catelyn’s suggestion. Lady Stark had been so prude all her life such an idea sounded absurd on her lips.  
It was a possibility she had already discussed with her husband - Arya never considered Jon as a bastard for being fatherless - but Tyrion’s sad eyes remembered her of another story, of his nephews and niece and of Jaime’s regrets. 

BRONN II

Maergery had left Sansa as soon as lady Catelyn made her appearance, opening wide the conservatory glass doors and calling her daughter’s name.  
Sansa’s back had stiffened immediately turning toward her mother and her eyes pleaded Maergery to leave them alone.  
She decided for the garden, using the opposite door, the voices soon raising behind her.  
Maergery wasn’t envious of Sansa dealing with Catelyn Stark, a conflict between two powerful women meant a heated discussion, not the subtle way her family, especially her grandmother Olenna, used to solve controversies.  
The bench under a climbing rose arch was half in shadow, a lovely spot to sit on, if only she had something to read to pass the time; from her position she caught glimpses of Sansa walking back and forth and then Tyrion sitting on a stool. She was sure the little lion would be supportive of Sansa, regardless the conjugal crisis they were into.  
Steps approached, someone smoking a cigarette, military boots and trousers in her visual field.  
“Miss Tyrrel, it’s a pleasure to see you again in Wintertown.”  
She remembered the voice with a deep Eastern accent from her engagement party with Tommen, when a group of drunken young lords started bickering and that man had step into to stop the quarrelling and saving the evening.  
“Captain Bron. May I have one of your cigarettes, please?”  
She patted the bench and he sat, noticing the direction of her gaze.  
“The queen and lady Catelyn. The Hall was informed as soon the car crossed the min gate.”  
“Few things can upset Sansa, her mother’s sure one.”  
“It’s a good match, my bet is on our Queen.”  
Maergery laughed, the captain was crude and sometimes vulgar, but she liked his straightforwardness, a refreshing moment in the court scheming she witnessed all her life.  
“Tyrion’s come to help.” She pointed out, the Lord of Winterfell was now in front of his mother in law and although being short, he appeared the taller one.  
“The queen’s happy you’re visiting, there is a strange tension here, until the Colonel and Major Arya settle down, everyone in Winterfell is walking on eggshells.”  
“You’re a trusted friend of the Colonel, if I remember well.”  
“And I told him many time to act and stop wavering. A beautiful women like our Princess deserves a good husband.”  
Maergery’s smile fell, she had loved Robb, mourned him deeply and Tommen was a brave and kind young man; it seemed lucky had deserted her.  
“Not all women easily find her mate and keep him.”  
“I’m sorry, Miss Maergery.”  
Bron smiled and gently put a kiss on the back of her hand. 

TYRION III

Confronting his mother in law left Tyrion exhausted, like every time lady Stark tried to interfere in her older daughter’s life.  
Catelyn wanted her car at the entrance shortly after her discussion with Sansa ended, realizing that the Queen’s decision was final; Tyrion’s pride suffered a blow so he retreated to his sitting room, adjacent to the bedroom and stood in front of the closet where he kept his personal reserve of vintage liquors.  
The words stung, painful for himself and for Sansa, who had been Catelyn’s favorite daughter until she married a Lannister.  
Sansa had been a perfect young lady, respectful, compassionate, who loved to play the piano and sing for her family, as the photos of family gatherings on the mant6elpiece confirmed, before first Ned Stark’s trial and then the war maimed her.  
He thought about his own parents, the mother he never knew and Tywin who failed to protect and really care for all his children, with his cold demeanour, his focus on power and family pride only.  
Would he be able to treat a child in a different way from his father, to show love and tenderness, things he never had as a child, except from his big brother? Without Jaime he doubted he’d reached adulthood and assuring Jaime’s continuous presence in Winterfell town was one of the reasons he set up the marriage idea with Arya.  
Brienne suggested patience, told him to respect Sansa’s difficult situation, to propose again adoption as a valid option, for themselves, if not for the kingdom, but he felt inadequate to help his dear wife.  
Would it be better to leave Sansa? Once a heir to the kingdom were born, Sansa would focus on the infant, probably bickering with Arya all the time about how to raise the child.  
What use could she have of a husband?  
She had learned well all the lessons lord Baelish first and then Tyrion had taught her, she was a competent ruler now and Bran would always be ready to offer his advice.  
He went to the window, he had called Winterfell Hall home for a long time, the first place he really considered a safe haven in his adult life, he loved the familiar view, the small building winging the main part, the gardens, the clear shape of the maze from his point of observation, the rose gardens Sansa designed and the orchard Arya created with Northern rare fruit plants, to preserve the memories of her ancestors.  
He saw Sansa and Maergery walking arm in arm toward the small pond, the afternoon sun added highlights to his wife’s auburn hair.  
A bird’s flight made the women look up and they spotted Tyrion; for a brief moment he thought to step back and hide himself behind the curtains, but Sansa waved her hand, so Tyrion opened the window.  
“Come here, Tyrion! It’s a lovely afternoon.”  
Sansa called her husband and Maergery agreed.  
“Hurry up, we’re having tea on the verandah. The weather is mild.”  
How could he resist the love of his life? He was a fool to ever imagine the idea to leave Winterfell and Sansa if a few words from her had the power to change his mood.


	12. Here comes the king

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am very very sorry for the long wait, but please believe me it has been a very very hard time and please say a prayer for my family.

JAIME VI

Jaime woke up very early and went to the window, glad for the thick rain: lLess people around the Hall and on the streets.  
The key in his hand burned, it was an hazard to drive with a hand only, but he needed to be alone, Tyrion would oppose his idea or insist to accompany him.  
He took his old mackintosh and waxed hat ad opened the staff door near the old stables; the car used for the weekly ride to the local market had a seat only – for more cargo space – but its gear was soft, he learned from Sandor.  
Jaime started the engine and demisted the windscreen before leaving for the half an hour drive to the hospital.  
He had to be brave, to explain Cersei – may or not she would listen and understand.  
Dr Qyburn seemed surprised to see Jaime alone, nevertheless he graciously lead him to Cersei; when Jaime explained the older man the reason of his visit, Qyburn remained silent, then placed a hand over Jaime’s shoulder and squeezed it briefly.  
Cersei was in her room, brushing her long hair, the golden mane with traces of grey, like Jaime’s; she wanted to keep it long, fighting whenever a nurse attempted to cut her hair.  
“She can be violent, be careful.”  
Jaime refused the idea, but obediently promised to observe her gestures to protect himself.  
Cersei’s profile, sat at the vanity table she was allowed to have, was still perfect, the same girl he fell in love years before, his other half, in flesh and soul, his twin.  
Looking back, their history was meant to be a failure from the beginning, but he was a young man and she the most beautiful creature he ever saw.  
Impossible to reach and awake again, her true spirit was still alive.  
Jaime had hoped for a change, prayed for a miracle, fought for a very long time against evidence, until he had to admit he was defeated.  
Cersei deserved to know, he has found somebody and decided to embrace a new life, affection not lust, admiration not desire. Different feelings for a different time of his life, a wiser man with a new hope.  
“Cersei.”  
She turned to him, he wanted to believe she had recognized him.  
“I’ve come to talk with you, there’s something I have to explain.” 

PODRICK I

As the Queen’s private secretary, Podrick received the letter with the wax sigil of a castle over steep cliffs; he recognized the sender, the squared calligraphy of someone who leaned to write properly only later in life.  
It was addressed to the Queen so he placed it over a silver tray with the morning newspapers and knocked at Sansa’s office door.  
The queen was standing behind Tyrion’s chair, dictating him a document; usually it was one of Podrick’s tasks, except for strictly private or family related matters.  
From her words to complete a line, he deduced it was a draft for Arya’s marriage contract  
He presented the tray and Sansa let Tyrion take the letter; direct correspondence between the rulers of the kingdoms wasn’t common, but quite frequent.  
Tyrion read in silence, then handed the sheet to his wife without a word, while Podrick stood, not dismissed yet; when the Queen’s brow furrowed and she pointed a particular paragraph to Tyrion, the secretary prayed for good news. The hard earned peace was precious, his own memories of the war, when an air raid killed his mother on a bridge near the main railway station and himself and his father took refuge in Winterfell, were a nightmare he often had to face.  
“We have to accept. It is discourteous to refuse. Diplomacy.”  
Tyrion nodded and turned to Podrick.  
“Prepare everything for a state visit with a short notice. From Storm’s end. King Gendry will arrive with a selected delegation in a week.” Podrick made a fast mental list, a few days and too many aspects to organize.  
“Your Grace, should I contact the King’s secretary to plan details an events? Are there ribbons to cut? The new motorway? He writes about trades…”  
“We trust you as always, but I’m sure the reason is not to inspect construction sites.”  
Tyrion was pacing the room and Sansa sighed, noticing how nervous her husband was.  
She gestured her secretary to sit and briefly reported him her discussion with Catelyn regarding Jaime and Arya; the timing was suspicious.  
“Do you think your mother is involved?”  
“I’m sure. Podrick. State visits are planned in advance, always.”  
“I suppose we cannot sent the Princess and the Colonel away?”  
The Queen shook her head, her stubborn mother would get in Arya’s way whatever Sansa did.  
“And we can’t hide them or keep the visit a secret.”  
“It is something else he comes for. And we have to be very careful. Jaime wont’ like it.”  
Tyrion added with a hint of bitterness in his voice. Podrick left the room, thunders were at the horizon, bringing troubles instead of rain.

ARYA VIII

“Want to wait or give a go before the wedding?”  
A parata.  
His betrothed’s way of asking questions during training was now common for Jaime.  
So different from the scheming at court, from Cersei evil remarks and Sansa’s quiet political speaking: Arya was never afraid to ask and show her inclinations, so Jaime was becoming able to decipher her requests. She was not talking about fencing this time, it was another kind of sparring; not that the idea to share a life with the young Stark was disgusting, quite the opposite, Jaime had to admit.  
“The decision is entirely yours.”  
An assault, on the right side; her eyes shone through the mask.  
“Our betrothal is raising suspicions when you are spotted with Doctor Brienne. You’re often together.”  
“We’re friends and I’m introducing her at the Military Academy to evaluate the potential new officers. She drives me there. Are you jealous?” he smiled, glad she was interested in how he was spending his days.  
“You’re the expert one who get the chance to bed a maiden. Aren’t you curious? Or was it so long ago you’re too old to remember how do it properly?”  
His swift counterattack directed at her left shoulder lost force when he had the confirmation she was a virgin.  
“I’m not expert as you imagine. And not that old. I remember well.”  
He made their foils clink hard, then he put his on a stool and opened a window to sit on a bench outside; she followed, getting rid of her mask that joined his on the rack.  
“She was my one and only.”  
“It is so?” Her grey wolf eyes got a new light. “So you’re the faithful guy? Your brother was eager to have female company, I’ve heard …”  
Jaime interrupted Arya lifting his good hand.  
“I was and I am. Tyrion changed since he got Sansa. You Stark girls have a deep impact on Lannister men.”  
Arya stilled, lowering her head for a moment, then she was back on him, there was a glint in her eyes.  
“Sansa says Tyrion is very good in bed.”  
“Our experiences cannot be compared, but one thing I assure you, I’ve never forced myself on a woman.”  
“The purpose is an heir only, no spare needed. If we are lucky, once could be enough.”  
“Maybe we won’t be lucky and we’ll enjoy trying?”  
Jaime could not hide his smile. The little wolf was indeed a surprise and a part of him started reacting at the idea of having her in his arms or under him on a soft bed.  
“Are you trying to court me, Lannister?”  
“Your sister is right, Stark, a bed can be a very pleasant place.”  
Arya let out a sbuff, she’d prefer to be even in every matter, her betrothed surely was more skilled than her, he was almost twice her age and had twenty years or more as a lover. If she had tried with Gendry, before all the hell broke and before he had been legitimized, she could enter the marriage bed with more experience. Jaime got closer and put his good hand on her shoulder.  
Neither of them noticed the two figures beside the fountain across a line of roses nor heard the tenderness in the words when Sandor looked at his Queen with all the devotion of a faithful servant.  
“I was sure there was already a man under her radar.”

TYRION V

The state visit started with the ceremony in Winter town main square, a parade while the military fanfare song the anthems, boring welcoming speeches, then and King Gendry and Queen Sansa shook hands with their respective dignitaries.  
For the official gala dinner Tyrion had personally arranged the table disposition; the purpose of Gendry’s presence was obvious, the King had been informed - surely by lady Catelyn – about Arya’s betrothal and he wanted to cancel it.  
Tyrion was furious, Jaime and Arya had returned from their journey North with the big decision taken – Jaime revealed Tyrion bits of the conversations they shared up there and the mutual understanding they conquered – and Tyrion was glad to see his brother more relaxed after too many sad years.  
Sansa wore a blue dress – perfect with her hair – and the crown was shining on her head; Tyrion had the traditional grey Northern belt across his chest with the wolf on it and Arya had asked Gilly Tarly, the royal dressmaker, to create an appropriate outfit. The final result was a silk dress, smooth and soft that matched well Jaime’s green high uniform and the duo was waiting for the royal couple at the door of the family private wing.  
Maergery had the delicate task to accompany King Gendry and to entertain him as much as possible, Tyrion pleaded her to save his brother from a break up.  
“I can’t imagine how hard it would be for Jaime to be rejected at this point.”  
“Is he in love with Arya? Or it is male desire do get the maiden?”  
Maergery’s romantic streak was more practical than Sansa’s.  
“He likes her a lot and he’s getting into her, too. They are learning slowly to make the betrothal work and I pray they succeed.”  
“Don’t worry, I’ll woo the king so he’ll have to be talkative and he won’t have enough time to be with Arya.”

Sansa and Tyrion preceded Arya and Jamie down the stairs that lead to the throne room, transformed in a banquet hall, with decorations in grey, gold and black, the colours of the two kingdoms.  
When King Gendry was free from the formal greetings, he searched for Arya and kissed her hand, protocol forbade him to kiss her like they used to do in the past.  
She bent a little for him, while Jamie's fake hand touched his forehead in the military salute.  
Gendry didn’t acknowledge Jamie's presence, he was concentrated on Arya only.  
“You are stunning this evening.” She wore a silver grey outfit, knee length with a round neck and mid sleeves, completed with a pair of silver silk gloves.  
“Thank you, your grace.”  
Gendry stepped closer to whisper in Arya’s ear.  
“Are we so formal now? We used to be good friends during the war.”  
He offered his arm and looked at the Queen.  
“Allow me to escort your sister to her seat.”  
Sansa took position beside Gendry while Tyrion cursed himself, his plan wasn’t good enough, the king was smarter then he remembered or being a ruler had changed him.  
It was impolite, disrespectful to oppose a King, so Tyrion put a neutral face and took his wife ‘s hand for the entrance.  
Behind him, he heard Jaime asking Maergery to lead him to the table.  
Thankfully, the seats could not be changed, Maergery was still the widow of a male Stark heir and so she sat at the King’s right, with Sansa on the other side.  
The dinner went smooth, quiet conversation while a concert duo played in the background.

BRIENNE III 

Time for dancing, Queen Sansa and king Gendry reached the centre of the room; it was convenient Gendry had no wife so Tyrion could avoid the embarrassment of his height. On a few occasions he had been obliged to dance with his wife and after the customary first two rounds it was tradition for Jaime to take his place.  
Tyrion observed the dancers from a couch, talking with Brienne and Podrick, while Jaime ans Arya did a walzer. The colonel had learned to dance in his youth because Cersei wanted to be a perfect queen of beauty and style and used Jaime as a partner, while Arya took basic lessons only and let herself be guided.  
“They are good together, aren’t they?”  
Tyrion whispered Brienne, who agreed, eating a slice of her favorite chocolate cake and already regretting the strap to her strict diet.  
“I’m quite positive.”  
“You helped him a lot.”  
“It is my profession.” The Doctor blushed a little, her friend was always praising her.  
“Don’t underestimate yourself. Our families owe you our immense gratitude.”  
Bronn approached them from behind the couch – dressed in high uniform and shaved clean – holding a bottle of single malt and a tray with glasses.  
Tyrion poured a finger for each and offered Brienne first.  
“Drink. “  
She protested, having already tasted two glasses of wine , but his arm remained outstretched.  
“You’ve got to drink, Brienne, it is a toast to Winterfell.”  
She reluctantly took her whiskey, observed the amber liquid, heard Podrick and Bronn bickering about the Queen’s control over Tyrion’s drinking then clicked with the men.  
Brienne looked around and her gaze intercepted something she was sure Tyrion would prefer to avoid: after the third dance, Gendry had seek Arya out from the Colonel, who stood in the middle of the dance floor, couples sliding around him, unsure of what to do.  
Brienne pointed at the scene with a discreet nod and Tyrion turned his head and saw.  
If jealousy had a name, it was Jaime Lannister’s, Tyrion thought and prepared a fast diversion.  
“Brienne, go rescuing Jaime, please. Bronn, ask Maergery then switch her with Arya.”  
“You’re stubborn, Lannister.”  
Bronn teased him.  
“For the happiness of my family I can be the worst mule. Now go!”


	13. Arya's choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I do hope you like the new installment. And please, a comment, thanks.

JAIME VII 

Jaime was still learning to control his emotions, a difficult task for a hot tempered man like him, every new blow - his hand, this children, Cersei’s madness – had made him sadder day by day, slower in grasping things. When Brienne took him away from the dancers and lead the way to the library, he followed without resistance, in a sort of daze.  
They sat on a leather couch and few words were exchanged, Jaime was afraid to voice his fears, because the possibility to be alone, again, after having enjoyed a few weeks with a new perspective for his life was hard to face.  
He was thankful for Brienne’s presence and support and together they listened to the music from the small orchestra, looking at the flames of the fireplace.  
When the door creaked and Tyrion entered, preceding Gendry inside, each smoking a cigar; Jaime stood, Brienne did a courteous bow and Gendry dismissed formalities.  
“Doctor Tarth, I’ve heard many praises about you from Lord Tyrion.”  
“Thanks, your Grace.”  
“A friend of the Lord of Winterfell is a friend of mine, too. Please sit.”  
She graciously complied, touching Jaime’s hand to calm him.  
Gendry and Jaime stared at each other from opposite seats, thin lips and clenched jaws on both sides; Tyrion and Brienne’s eyes switched from one to another in a silence that was growing oppressive.  
Protocol dictated the King to speak first, but Tyrion decided to cause a minor domestic accident: feigning clumsy, he let his cigar fell on a chair, a hole in an ancient furniture was a small price to pay.  
A whiff of burned wool ensued, Tyrion excused himself, Brienne grabbed an ash tray, Gendry smiled. “It is not a big deal, tissues con be changed.”  
“Yes, Lord Tyrion, we’re only the one that cannot. Doctor Tarth, do you agree?”  
“Life is often difficult, we should try to behave according to our beliefs and desires, respecting each other.”  
Brienne went for a cautious and neutral answer, the tension in the room was high.  
“Well said, my lady, it is the fulfillment of those desires that causes so many problems.”  
“Indeed, your grace.”  
“I imagine in your profession you have to deal every day with those topics. The Queen told me you will teach at the university in a few weeks.”  
Brienne nodded while Tyrion explained the project of a new athenaeum, one of his most treasured dreams that met Sansa’s.  
The atmosphere became less formal, only Jaime remained silent, listening to every word from the King; the tarlo of jealousy was the same he felt toward Robert during his marriage to Cersei, it was ironic the Baratheons – father and son - were involved with the same women Jaime was.  
For him Gendry had always been a kind and honest man, that ended up as a ruler in absence of other heirs and who’d probably prefer to remain a blacksmith, owning his small enterprise and not a whole kingdom. But sometimes desires remain unfulfilled.  
When Pod knocked at the door, reminding them of the incoming toasts and greetings, Jaime stood and addressed Gendry directly; protocol or not, Gendry had been one of his subordinate once.  
“Your grace, may I have a brief moment with you?”  
“Sure, Colonel.”  
Tyrion feared to look at his brother, Jaime was falling into a trap, head first, a den for a feline without claws. After everything Tyrion did to favour Jaime, was his brother destroying his work in a few minutes?  
Tyrion’s hands were tied, he left the room following Brienne with a heavy heart.  
Gendry faced Jaime, their last interaction had been shortly after the end of the war, assessing damages in Wintertown after the siege.  
“You danced with Lady Arya.”  
“Me and the princess are good friends.”  
“I remember. She’s fond of you.”  
Jaime was doing an effort to stay calm, a vein was pulsing on his temple, his ghost hand hurt.  
“She is engaged to you.” Gendry stated the obvious; Jaime decided to cut it short, no pleasantries, no delaying.  
“Arya deserves happiness. If you’re the man that can offer it, so be it. I will take a step back. She is free to decide.”  
Something Gendry didn’t expect, his shoulders tensed and he grabbed a chair’s back.  
Both men stared at each other, evaluating the adversary like in a fencing tournament, those meaningful moments when each athlete tries to see behind the masks the strength of the other.  
If Gendry thought Jaime was weak and easily intimidated by his new status as a king, there was a stubborn expression on the older man’s face that spoke of a great respect for Arya’s welfare.  
“I agree, Colonel, let’s Arya make the choice.”  
The young king straightened his dinner jacket, took a breath then left the room with long steps.  
Jaime’s heart was heavy as a stone, he feared what Gendry could tell Arya to make her change her mind. 

GENDRY I

Lady Catelyn had visited Storm’s end, to express the King her disappointment about Arya’s future husband and to push Gendry to act.  
The obstinate woman won his resistances – a proposal had already been made and refused, although Gendry hated to remember his failure in securing himself a bride – and the king accepted the idea of the state visit.  
When Maergery asked him to dance, it was impolite to refuse, Arya was set free and she walked away from Bron, toward the atrium.  
Gendry had to let the music end, then he bowed his head to the Tyrrel woman and moved to follow Arya’s steps; he tried in vain two doors – one leading to a service stair and one closed – and then found opened a small sitting room with blue and grey tapestry, lady Catelyn’s former private parlour.  
Arya was there, standing beside the fireplace, hands clasped behind her back, playing with her dress belt.  
“Lady Arya.”  
She turned to face the known voice.  
While they danced the conversation had remained light and polite, but Gendry had a purpose was determined to reach it. He had to forget the promise made to the colonel, but in love and war all was allowed.  
“I once asked your hand. It is still a proposal.”  
“I’m engaged to be married.”  
Gendry moved closer, stopping at arm’s reach.  
“It is a political marriage, I know. I’ve spoken with the colonel. He’ll stand aside if you accptr me.”  
A had the impulse to grab his arm and shake him to the core, to make G understand.  
“Why should I choose you?”  
“Because you’re the lady I want at my side.”  
“I’m not a lady, Gendry, never will be. I don’t want to be a queen.”  
Whatever Gendry hoped for, one side love wasn’t enough to live in a beautiful cage.  
“You know who he is, don’t you? About his sister and their bastards.”  
She nodded.  
“Jaime opened up to me.”  
“A man without a hand.”  
Gendry hated to use Jaime’s disability – they fought together, he respected the Colonel – but it was his last throw of the dice to have Arya.  
His eyes betrayed his discomfort because A crossed the room to put a hand on his cheek. . a tender gesture from a friend, not from a lover.  
“He won the war with only a hand!”  
“My independence is too strong to bend to the court rules you clang to. I’m sorry, Gendry”  
“Please, think about it, that’s the only thing I’m asking you.”  
She didn’t want to give him false hopes, but he seemed so desperate she accepted, glad he didn’t stopped her when she retreated her hand and left the room. 

SANSA V 

Arya sat on a stone bench and took a cigarette from her silver box, she kept two or three there in case of a sudden need, refusing to become an addict; the blue smoke dissolved into the night.  
She recollected meaningful moments with the former blacksmith in the past, before the legitimization had changed many things.  
Men, Arya lamented, how fragile they could be despite their exterior appearance.  
Gendry knew about Jaime and came to Winterfell to convince her to change her mind; Jaime knew about Gendry enough for his eyes to became dark when the king stole Arya from his arms.  
I should have explained Jaime better, she thought, talking a long satisfying whiff, when she heard steps, the swish of a long dress.  
“Why are you here all alone?”  
“I am smoking. And you don’t want me to smoke inside.”  
Sansa’s disapproving gaze toward the cigarette was milder, the queen had come to term with another of her sibling’s un-lady habitudes.  
“It has been a long evening, Sansa.”  
“You should greet those who are leaving.”  
“I cannot now.”  
“It is Gendry, isn’t it? You were so tensed those last days.”  
“Was it so evident?”  
Sansa gave Arya a look of understanding after the younger sister reported her conversation with the king.  
“I’ve set up my mind on Jaime, I don’t want to be in the middle of a fight for my hand, aunt Lyanna had been enough. She got a heartbreak and a bastard.”  
Sansa lloked around for privacy, then sat beside her sister, careful not to ruin her dress on the stone.  
Arya marrying the colonel meant keeping her closer to home than in another kingdom and the queen admitted one of her desires was to have at least a sibling with her.  
“I know what I’m asking you is huge, but please, Arya, if you really cannot, we’ll wait for Rickon’s future children.”  
Arya shook her head, it seemed silly Sansa was taking back her request when the wedding plans were quite completed.  
“Gendry’s kind and faithful, but he’s looking for Lady Baratheon, not for Arya Stark. I can’t be stuck at Storm’s End for the rest of my life, smiling and offering gifts to the poor.”  
With Jaime, there was fencing, bitchering, travelling, she felt safe and respected with the seasoned soldier.  
And her home would remain so, travel she may, her safe refuge in the North would always be there.  
Both men were clearly interested in Arya, the wolf could not be tamed by a stag, while she could run beside the lion. 

TYRION VI 

Tyrion was pacing the Queen’s bedroom since he and Sansa retired for the night.  
He longed for a night cup, knowing sansa would be deluded if he abandoned the decision to reduce his alcohol consumption.  
Sansa returned from the bathroom dying her hands, wihtout make up.  
“Are you going to worn out the carpet? It is a gift from aunt Lyanna. She bought it during one of het Middle East trip.”  
Tyrion shook his head and asked forgiveness to his wife. She rolled her eyes.  
“I was joking, Tyrion! The carpet isn’t important. You’re worried.”  
“I know, my dear.”  
“It is not warm enough here, the fire is too low. I’m tired.”  
“Sorry, Sansa, I’m too anxious. I forgot to add logs. I can go downstairs and let…”  
“No! Please.”  
The idea of Tyrion leaving again made the queen sad, she took two warm scarves from a dresser and passed her husband one then sat, gesturing Tytion to join her on the small couch.  
“Tell me everything. I know you planned a lot for this visit.”  
“Was I so clumsy?”  
“You were simply loving and caring. From the beginning you supported me and did everything for our kingdom.”  
He feared it was not enough: if Arya ended up marrying Gendryher children would be heirs to another kingdom and she’d live away from Sansa; the sisters shared a bond - made of quarrelling and discussing – but still a connection like his with Jaime.  
“I am trying to make Arya stay.”  
“Yes, and I love you so much, because you are doing this for me.”  
“For us, Sansa, I cannot imagine how you’d fell if another piece of your family left. I know I’d be devastated to see you suffer.”  
Bran was required to travel a lot, Jon left after his marriage, if Rickon’s health continued to improve he’d attend a college in the South.  
Sansa stood and walked to the bed. For her desire to have Arya around and safe, there was her husband’s family to consider; his brother has been his constant support since Tyriuon was a child.  
“I think Jaime is in love.”  
“That’s what I fear, Sansa.”  
“Arya’s clever, she’ll take the right decision.”  
Tyrion took her hands and kissed each knuckles.  
“I do hope you’re right, my love.” 

ARYA IX

When she closed behind her back her bedroom door, Arya leaned into it, breathing heavily like after a long run.  
She remembered Tyrion and Sansa’s half words, the way they stopped talking every time she approached them since the state visit was announced.  
The court was worried, Sansa was worried, Tyrion was is a state of continue tension for Gendry coming to Winterfell.  
And there was someone else involved and she had been blind, too focused on her own feelings to recognise the way Jaime behaved during the previous weeks.  
She had to find Jaime and make him talk. From what Gendry told her, he was doing the noble thing and give up what they were building together.  
Sandor told Arya Jaime was in the fencing room, she heard sounds inside, Jaime was raining against a mirror, he stopped as soon as he heard her voice, turning slowly toward the door.  
“We need to talk about your meeting with Gendry.”  
“Arya, I want only the best for you.”  
“And you assume it’s Gendry? Without asking my opinion?’”  
Her voice was raising, she hated to be deprived of making her own choices. Her own parents married for duty, but her mother was engaged before to her late uncle, a man Catelyn had frequented before and was very fond of. His death had been a massive blow for her.  
“He’s a king, young and handsome.”  
He wanted Arya to see the actual facts, without veils that could cast shades of illusion on their engagement.  
“I don’t need a king. I want a an who is an equal for me. A marriage, not a trap!”  
Jaime felt relief, the realisation Arya was important for him had found a way to his heart and the fear to loose her threatened to make his heart bleed.  
“But if you had to choose, you’d marry or not?”  
“It’s not about a choice only.” It was about growing up and discovering responsibilities, understanding that life is not a selfish series of things, but joy in sharing them with family, friends and someone to love. Jaime listened to her explanation and his features distended into a smile.  
“I’m sorry. I simply told him the decision is entirely yours and I’ll accept your choice.”  
“It is simple. You’ll be my husband in three weeks.” 

JAIME VIII

Sansa looked at the vaulted ceiling, Arya’s behaviour still unpredictable with the wedding so close, a grown up woman so different from their mother and the majority of ladies. Arya was Arya and a lot of people respected and loved her.  
The Queen and her family were having dinner in a sober and intimate style, guests were rare after many years of war and large sectors of the hall were still under restoration. Sometimes Brienne joined the royals and Maergery was a constant when visiting; Jaime’s presence became more frequent after the betrothal. It was a quiet time of the day for everyone so when Sandor arrived with fresh coffee and announced the birth of a litter from one of the house bulldogs, Arya left the room, Tyrion poured coffee for himself and Jaime, while Sansa cut a slice of lemon cake.  
“Arya’s beautiful in her way. Young and deadly dangerous.”  
Sansa praised her sister’s virtues while reaching her favourite armchair.  
Jaime put his cup on the table and looked at his relatives.  
“She’s young indeed, barely older than Myrcella was.”  
All the deaths caused by the war meant less man available for marriage, Sansa objected, changing the subject from Jaime’s daughter tragic fate so she turned to Tyrion for help.  
“Me and Sansa have a significant age difference, too, and you’re a better looking man than me. You can continue to spar with her, ride together, you both like that kind of life. There’s the farm you could restore it, fill the barn with horses.”  
Tyrion paused, he had discussed a lot with Sanda how to offer a way out from responsibilities and family duties to their siblings . “But if Arya wants to travel again and you’re not interested in the child upbringing….”  
Jaime tensed suddenly, squeezing his eyes for a moment; they did not understand the dark cloud hovering his mind, the memories of his dead children, the agony of having neglected them.  
Cersei wanted his children more than she wanted him; being apart in time of peace, without major threats, gave Jaime time to see their common history with a much needed detachment after nearly two decades.  
being a soldier with the impending risk of war and death had been obstacles to evaluate clearly what Cersei did to him.  
Her sweet poison was his source of life and now Jaime felt his mind was cleaner, quite reborn.  
“Enough fatherless bastards for me. I don’t want Winterfell to raise another Jon. My regrets can last for three lives, not just one. My family name is lost for me, but for a child of mine….I need to be the father. I cannot give you the heir and forget it after.”  
Sansa looked at Jaime then at Tyrion, her husband closed his eyes and bowed his head a little, a brief nod and Sansa understood. How difficult it had been for both to be born Lannisters with wealth and power but without any love or true affection, except for and from each other.  
“It won’t be a bastard or a sort of orphan. No more sacrifices or impositions. It will be a private marriage, no need to make a show of it. And the name, if you want, will be Stark for both of you.” 

SANSA VII

Gilly had asked repeatedly a wedding dress fitting and Arya had already denied thrice her request, until sansa heard the plight of the dressmaker and forced Arya to choose a date  
The sisters were in Gilly’s tailoring but the dressmaker wasn’t there, Arya was annoyed, casting glances at the garment hanging from a hook, like it was a burning object.  
“It’s a shade of grey paler than I imagined.” Sansa touched the soft fabric.  
“I don’t care how the dress is. You’ve got to meet the treasury secretary a dn I need to make a few calls. “  
Sansa calmed her sister and thanked God Gilly arrived a few minutes later.  
“I’m sorry, your grace, little Sam’s lost a milk teeth and Sansa cried in support of her big brother.” The Wueen was the godmother of Gilly and San’s daughter.  
Arya did not reply but stared at Gilly and Sansa with a sour and dark face for the whole fitting time.  
Sansa heard her murmur something about children’ untimely and wondered why Arya’s attitudce toward them was so harsh. She’s seldom seen her sister interacts with the families of the Hall staff, was it inclination or fear and could be Arya cold and distant toward her own future child?  
The following day she summoned her sister.  
“An official call from my Queen. What did I do to deserve to be chastised?”  
Sansa remained silent, Arya’s tone was playful, it was better not to stir a discussion when too much was at stake, after the way her sister behaved earlier.  
“I’ll make it short. Me and Tyrion spoke with Jaime about your future plans. You’ve travelled a lot since the war ended.”  
Arya’s face betrayed boredom and Impatience. The topic had already been discussed, why Sansa was still at it?  
“Arya, a marriage changes one’s life and perspectives.”  
The young Stark stood from her armchair and paced the room.  
“Spit it out. What’s the real problem?”  
The Queen sighed and explained that during the interaction with Gilly Arya showed a scarce desire to be involved with a kid.  
“I’m thinking about the well being of all those involved, our heir included, who will need a family, two parents. “  
Arya stopped her abruptly  
“Your heir will have both parents.”  
“I know Jaime is assertive in being a father, I’m worried about you and your free spirit.”  
A sat again , she had thought a lot about the implications of her choice, parenthood had ties that could further bind her to Winterfell.  
“father once told me I’d be married one day, Jaime’s not perfect but he’s learned a lot from his mistakes. Let us go on a long honeymoon and I’ll satiate my adventurous soul for a while. Can you accept this proposal?”  
Sansa extended her hand, grabbing Arya’s in a strong grip: she owed her sister one last journey in exchange for her gift.  
“Deal done, sister.” 

TYRION VII

Sansa knocked at Tyrion’s door before the evening meal, her husband had left the afternoon tea with the family when he had read Jamie's written offer to change his surame into Stark.  
Tyrion could be the last Lannister, the family name forgotten after his death.  
when he heard his wife's voice, he reluctantly opened the door.  
Jaime was erasing more than a family name, he was abandoning all his former life, his glory and his damnation, his family and his past for Arya and a new life in the cold North  
Jaime had taken Arya’s hand and squeezed it, then he explained for him names were not so important, after what they endured. Life only mattered. And a name did not change his identity, but defined better the future prince or princess of the North.  
“I have asked Jamie to reconsider the idea, seeing how much you are hurt.”  
“He thought his decision was the best for Arya.”  
“But he didn’t take you into the picture.”  
For Tyrion his family name was a huge part of his identity; he had loved his aunts and uncles and cousins - many of them war casualties - more than he loved his father, who always considered his youngest son a deformed body only.  
On the contrary, after Cersei got mad, Jaime tried to detach himself from the family history, as to forget the hurt he suffered.  
“I am proud to be Tyrion Lannister’s wife.” Sansa declared.  
A flash of sadness over Tyrion’s eyes; he missed her, their cuddles at night in bed, reading together until very late in the evening on the coach in front of the fire, taking a private breakfast in their room away from the court.  
“I am sorry, Sansa, I was stupid and uncaring of you. I will refrain from making love to you or I will use whatever protection you want, but please forgive me. Let me be your husband again.”  
“There is nothing to forgive my love, I have been too harsh with you.”  
Tyrion kissed her hand in the most tender way, cherishing ther soft skin, the pale veins and the lavender smell.  
Sansa’s gaze fell on their jointed hands, then back on Tyrion’s face; his love was so pure she felt a rush of heat on her cheeks.  
“Can we sleep again in the same bed?” "I…I would be so happy, Sansa.” His love was so evident in his voice that Sansa realised her husband deserved her complete devotion, because he was the best man she could have


	14. The first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are.......

ARYA & JAIME

Jaime’s room was simple and plain, a desk with a chair under the window, a comfortable bed and an half empty closet, enough for his few belongings.

During the war he slept on a camp bed in one of the small cubicles on the ground floor, converted into officials’ quarters, to be close to the war rooms.

Then Sansa renovated the Hall, unchanged since her grandmother, adding central heating, changing wall papers, buying new furniture, to help her Northerners earning money, to make the young learn new jobs, to prompt a change for her homeland.

Jaime was moved upstairs and he got a large bed with a soft mattress, a blessed improvement after many nights in his camp bed, haunted by sad memories of his family lost.

Still, he loved to be surrounded by a monastic simplicity, he remembered his training days at the military academy, with a bag of clothes and nothing else, the opposite life at his childhood home, where he was the heir, a boy everyone spoiled and was allowed to do whatever he liked. But he was a simple child whose only desire was his mother’s love, too early taken away from him. 

In a drawer he kept photos of his relatives, a lock of his mother’s hair, one of Myrcella, nothing about Cersei; objects weren’t necessary to remember her. 

“I imagined a colonel would have a more spacious room. Or generals have?”

Arya was standing on the threshold, arms crossed, dressed in a pair of blue trousers, brown riding boots and a purple hand knitted cardigan, a strong contrast with her grey eyes.

The door was partly ajar and her steps muffled by the thick carpet on the corridor floor; Arya’s ability to appear unnoticed was her trademark.

“The Queen assigned me this room. I don’t care how big it is. I like the view of the orchard.”

“You weren’t outside to see the departure.”

The delegation from Strom’s end had left Winterfell hall in the morning with a simple ceremony.

“I had some paperwork left, a deadline.”

“In perfect timing with the state visit. You disappeared after the state dinner.”

“I told you, I had to work.”

“For three whole days? Are you joking? You avoided me, admit it.”

Jaime hanged his jacket to turn and hide his face from Arya.

Arya stared at him, Jaime knew he had deliberately refused to speak with her, going to the academy in the mornings and hiding in his office until late at night. He was getting nervous with the wedding close, a feeling deep in his gut he could not name.

She decided to change tactic, approaching the shelves where books were stored in horizontal; an unusual way to organize things.

“You have quite a collection. Have you read them or not?”

“A few, during restless nights. I’ve never been able to read a lot, words are my enemies since I started school, Tyrion used to read for me, and I learned a lot through him.”

Arya scanned the titles.

“Arya, are you here to discuss my reading habits?”

The latent fear she could cut off their betrothal was the reason he stay away from the court while Gendry was visiting; their last conversation not enough to soothe his doubts.

Arya turned and observed Jaime from head to toe. 

“You and I will marry as decided in a few days. I won’t change my mind. I trust you enough to respect and understand me.”

Jaime breathed freely, his feature relaxed, he cared for the young woman beside him.

“And I’m tired of waiting. I’m nervous enough for the marriage so I want us to be done with the sex part before it.”

He seemed taken aback at the suggestion, his mind had cut off the physical part of their wedding; Arya was forcing him to come to term to the idea of sharing more than sleep with him.

The second woman of his life, the last one, a certainty; after years of celibacy, since Cersei was hospitalized, fear of intimacy had prevented Jaime to consider the idea to love or care again. Where to find a woman to trust for real, without the manipulations and scheming Cersei did on him for a very long time?

He tried to find a way out, tried to use one of his old tactics, to stop Arya’s impulsivity and force her to reconsider her decision.

“If I remember well, you wanted to do it only once.” She took off her cardigan and draped it on his armchair. Jaime swallowed visibly, the white cotton shirt showed all her curves.

“Don’t be stupid, I’m well aware children don’t happen so easily. And what if I have a problem like my sister? We count on you, but I was wounded during an explosion, do you remember? Some bomb fragments cut my belly.”

Jaime moved closer, looking into her eyes and he saw bravado and insecurity mixed together. And he did not care about the heir, he just wanted to have Arya Stark for himself, to be connected to another soul.

“In this case we’ll simply do it more than once.”

“So let’s start.” Arya placed her hands on her hips and faced Jaime

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t you like me? I thought we kissed rather well.”

Jaime had no time to reply, Arya embraced him, lifted her chin and pulled his head down until their mouth touched again. Their kisses started slowly, then got bolder, lips parted and tongues danced. Jaime wanted Arya closer, he longed to have another heart beating under his hands.

A warmth encased his body because she was touching him, it wasn’t lust or passion ruling him – nothing like Cersei had been - but a quiet feeling of joy and a desire to take care of someone, to worship and nurture the seeds of love that were blooming in his heart toward Arya Stark.

Her shirt’s buttons weren’t easy for a hand only, off went the garment and her pale skin appeared.

Jaime took his time in disrobing Arya, kissing her neck and every new part of her: shoulders, chest, breasts.

Her eyes half open, enjoying his touch, concentrating on his movements, her own hands travelling up and down his arms, the uniform shirt cracking a little, so perfect ironed it was, until she was bored of touching fabric only and asked Jaime to see his torso.

Jaime placed his shirt and undershirt on the chair, then he turned, offering himself to her curious gaze.

“Do I disappoint you?” He asked to break the silence

Time had been gently with him, the hand loss prevented Jaime from balancing in training shoulders and upper chest and fencing left handed gave him a little difference in the shape of his arms.

“Not at all.”

Her fingers mapped from stomach up to shoulders and Jaime felt his blood rushing down, glad her exploration made him half hard.

His biggest fear regarding their sexual union was the inability to have an erection, after a life of monogamy with a woman he lusted for. Should he think about Cersei’s stunning body while coupling with his wife? Arya deserved a man who could be hers, completely.

Brienne had calmed his anxiety, explaining mind and body were a complex system and Jaime cared a lot for Arya, she was confident sex would follow naturally.

Arya seemed to have lost part of her eagerness, she mirrored him, running her hand on his back, rubbing chests together.

Jaime wanted to see all of her so step by step he pushed her to his bed and made her sit, kneeling to help with boots and socks, while Arya unbelted her trousers, then stopped.

Jaime put his hand over hers near the belt.

Doubts? Insecurity?

Was he too fast, too forward? They had time before the wedding night, no need to rush things.

“We’re not obliged …”

“I want it! The fact is … I’m all theory and you’re the experienced one. I talked with Tyrion.”

Arya freed her hands and took Jaime’s trembling one; he was reacting at the idea of his brother as a teacher.

“Relax. Tyrion wants us to work.”

“I know, but ..it’s strange.”

“I trust him more than Sansa in sex matters. Should I have asked Sandor instead?”

“God! No, no.”

A brief flash of Sandor roughly explaining Arya the facts of life - completed with a visual part - made Jaime blush.

“Do you want to know what Tyrion told me?”

Arya asked lifting her hips to push her trousers down.

“I’d prefer not.”

Tyrion’s approach to carnal matters came from his previous promiscuous lifestyle and it was the only aspect of his brother Jaime deeply disagreed with.

Her laugh was a little nervous, but she got rid of her underwear and shivering for the cold she slide under the covers; she missed her warm pijama but a large woolly grey thing was a bad choice for a seduction.

She had doubts, uncertainties and a good dose of anxiety, most of all she hoped Jaime was faithful to his promises and not going to mock her.

He joined her, naked Arya stared at his butt while he walked to lock the door and close the curtains better, then at his navel when he stood beside the bed.

No blushing maiden, Jaime appreciated and was pleased by her braveness, so he lie down to take her in his arms, kissing her tenderly.

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m plain.”

“You’re special, Arya Stark and I’m proud to be your husband.”

“You aren’t bad, Lannister. I think I like my groom a lot.”

Hands roamed again, new places to explore, when Arya caressed his groin in an exploratory way Jaime tensed, how starved of affection he was, she thought, if a simple contact made him hard.

He breathed, once, twice, to regain his control: Arya trusted him and it was important not to scare her or cause a failure for their future.

She deserved to be worshipped, loved, taken care of, a marriage was for life, Jaime had decided, and although the circumstances weren’t optimal, he wanted to make the best of what life was offering him as a second chance.

“Did Tyrion told you about foreplay?”

“Yes, and he said it can be a very good part.”

“Clever brother. I need to ease you into it, get you ready. Will you let me and tell me to stop if you don’t like it?”

With her consent, he moved along her body, settling between her parted legs, kissing and touching there.

When he was sure she was not complaining at all, he cautiously slide one, then two fingers inside her; Arya arched her back and moved her hips, a confirmation she was enjoying him.

“You know what I’m doing, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’ve touched myself before.”

When he was a young boy the pastor had spoke about flames of hell and eternal damnation for those who dared to answer the puberty calls; Arya’s generation had been molded by the war and lost its innocence.

He felt no resistance, grateful her sportive life had eased his way inside her channel.

She was ready, he tasted the proof, and Jaime knew is was now or never, if he’d continue he’d be inside her, soon, and his long abstinence a risk to loose control and spill into her womb before pulling out: a drop of seed could be enough to get Arya pregnant. It was their purpose and at the same time his – maybe theirs – biggest fear.

He didn’t care they weren’t married yet, the big day was approaching, no one would say a word if a child would be born in just nine months or less, but what he discussed with Tyrion, the faces of his dead offspring, Cersei’s screams during her deliveries, all Jaime remembered in an heartbeat.

Was he ready to start it all over again, for a reason greater than himself and his past faults and fears, for a hard earned and fragile peace between the kingdoms?

This time he’d be a father for real and there were no convenient Roberts to put the blame on for raising a bad seed like Joffrey; he’d thought to offer Cersei another child to ease her pain after Tommen, she was still fertile, but her doctors forbid the mere idea, too fragile her mind had become.

Now, if he could choose, he’d prefer a girl like Myrcella,

Arya noticed he was away, lost inside his mind; she touched his face and offered a tentative smile.

“It’s ok.”

Jaime was taken aback, she was comforting him, soothing his hesitations; it was supposed the other way round. He let a tear fall on her cheek, his upper arms trembling.

Arya took a deep breath, things weren’t proceeding the way she had planned.

“If you can’t, I’ll leave. It wasn’t my intention to upset you. I’m nervous for the ceremony and if we do the deal now …”

Jaime shook his head, he wanted to fulfill Arya’s request, allow her a child – for her kingdom, for her family, for her sister. Who was he to deprive Arya of her desire? But he had to ask one last time.

“Are you absolutely sure you want me and a child from me?”

Her silent answer were her lips meeting his, slowly, soon she moaned into her mouth and her hands slide between their bodies, to caress and play with his cock, positioning it close to her warm core.

A little push was enough to be inside, Jaime was right, there were no maidenhead to break, no great discomfort for Arya, who remained still for a while, to get acquainted to the new sensation of fullness.

Then she raised her hips a little and Jaime felt the need to move, too, starting with slow thrusts, keeping eye contact.

He didn’t want to hurt her, but it was Arya who by instinct – or by Tyrion’s lessons – locked her legs around his body and started tensing beneath him, whispering his name when she shuddered.

Enough to let Jaime follow her and find his release.

They caught their breaths lying side by side, until Arya covered both with the warm duvet and after placing a kiss on his cheek turned so that Jaime could spoon her and let himself follow Arya in a satisfied sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following me along this ride, here we have the last chapter.

Eight years after

“Mama wins again!”

A four years old girl with brown hair and green eyes claps from the stands looking at the athletes inside Wintertown sport hall; a group of fencers are training for an international competition. 

A petite woman with dark brown hair, now free from the white mask, has defeated her trainer and is holding her foil at his chest; they are both left handed, she by birth, he by necessity.

The man takes off his mask and lifts a hand to gently caress the face of his trainee, then he turns, calling the little girl.

“Joanna Catelyn, soon you’ll be able to start a real training, like your Mama.”

The woman moves toward the public, there’s a family of four around her daughter: cousins, uncle and aunt.

“Sister, come here and help me to dress the twins, your husband promised them a lesson.”

“Will my brother be able to manage both? He’s over fifty now, he should slow down a little.”

The Queen’s consort is holding hand with two boys around seven years old – their red hair have the same nuance of their mother’s - while his wife holds two white uniforms, identical except for the names embroidered in grey on the backs, Eddard and Robb.

The petite woman chastises her brother in law, their banter a family tradition.

“Tyrion, don’t you dare tell Jaime he’s getting old, he’ll do again the Moor cross country ring in record time just to show you he’s in perfect shape. But I should teach them, I’m better than anyone else here. Well, now I’m better.”

Arya Stark knows her agility and speed would have been insufficient against her husband-trainer’s ability when he was younger, when he had both hands; Jaime approaches her.

“Arya, we already discussed about it. I’ll start with basic, then you’ll take charge, I promise. And the same for our little Jo. You need your own time to train for the competitions.”

Queen Sansa looks at the clear sky outside the tall windows of the building, resigning to the idea her twins are to leave childhood soon, because fencing is another step toward youth. For two young princes life will be full of duties too soon.

Her husband senses her discomfort.

“It’s just fun for now, they don’t think about battles and dangers. We are in peace with the other kingdoms. But neither we nor Jaime and Arya want our children to grow unable to protect themselves and their families, do we? They are our little miracles and I thank God every day we have them.”

Sansa remembers Arya’s quiet wedding in the Godswood chapel, Bran’s little boy holding the rings, the married couple smiling with sincere affection, a few relatives and selected friends filling the small building, Nymeria sitting still beside her owner. Bronn proposed to Maergery during the following banquet and Brienne talked all the time with Lieutenant Tormund, a red haired officer form Jon’s regiment, who saved Jon’s life and was saved by him.

Sansa was happy, all went as planned, she ate with gusto, tasted vintage wine, got a little drunk and ended up in bed making love to Tyrion after a very long time. The twins were born nine months after, a great surprise for the whole kingdom, that was waiting for such an announcement from the Princess, not from the Queen; doctor Brienne declared Sansa was so relieved of the pressure to have an heir that her body finally relaxed and she carried a pregnancy to term.

Jaime and Arya were back from their prolonged honeymoon on Arya’s jeep in time to receive the revelation of the twins with the parents to be.

Tyrion was shocked and feared at the idea of dwarves, sure one of the children would inherit his stature; he questioned Brienne so insistently she gave him all the medical books about genetics she owned and bought him some more.

He discussed another topic in private with his brother, whose relief when two perfect boys were born was stronger than Tyrion’s.

Seeing a happy Sansa in their bed, holding the newborns, gave Tyrion a feeling e of immense pride, Tyrion forgot he was half a man, an imperfect body in a perfect mind. Was the mighty Tywin still alive, he’d be so happy to show his father how wrong the old lion had been in judging his younger son, because Sansa had saved Tyrion in every possible way.

On the contrary, Arya and Jaime needed more than three years to become parents and Sansa doubted it was their true inclination, although the physical expression of their bond was evident; after having her pregnancy confirmed, Arya declared whatever the sex it would be her only child; there were already two heirs, the baby would be only hers and Jaime’s.

Jaime was more than happy their daughter was preceded in the succession line by two male cousins; he felt an immense relief not to offer a child to the crown, after those he sacrificed for Cersei’s desire of power.

He asked Arya to give the baby both grandmothers’ names as a peace offer with Catelyn Stark, for the sake of his new family. If God offered him another child, he wanted to do his best, at whatever cost, no matter his pride.

Sansa takes Tyrion’s hand and bows her head to palce a soft kiss on his golden curls.

“No, we don’t. My only hope is for them to go well together like me and Arya and you and Jaime.”

After all they endured, the notion of spending time together in peace is a blessing and a gift, but things could change, for the worst, again.

And the Queen is determined to do everything in her power to assure her sons and her niece’s life would remaining as safe as possible.

Below them, the twins runs to reach aunt Arya, while Jaime lifts his precious daughter on his shoulders; she’s a daddy’s girl since he held her for the first time in the delivery room, when his unstoppable tears of joy fell on her pink and shrieking face. He didn’t care, she was beautiful and she was his. Since then, he wanted to be involved in her life and Arya was relieved not to be charged alone with an exigent baby.

Joanna grabs her father’s greyish locks to lead him around like a horse.

“Dad, I’ll be good as Mama? I’ll have my own foil?”

“Better, because we’ll teach you both to become a great swordgirl.”

She’s strong, he knows, like her mother and Jaime prays Jo takes Arya’s best and not his worst, he prefers his daughter to be brave and kind, not charming and spoiled, like too many Lannisters has been.

Arya is back from the dressing room, having helped Robb to wear his uniform. He still needs a hand, the twins have opposite personalities, Eddard is proud and serious, like his grandfather, while Robb is a sweet shy little boy who one day will be a wise king.

She notices Jo and Jaime are observing the foils on the rack, Jo’s small hand caresses the hilts, Jaime keeps her away from sharp edges.

Jo is a curious child, eager to copy her parents; she refuses to wear plain traditional girly dresses and wants the same outfits of her mother in mini size. Stubborn like the Starks and beautiful like Jaime.

Arya had been dubious at the idea of a child after the twins were born and noticing her attitude Jaime proposed her to use condoms: eventually she refused, a little envious of Sansa and Tyrion’s family and because of the longing looks Jaime casted to his nephews. They chemistry in bed has developed during the years and didn’t slow when Jo made her presence known with morning sickness.

Arya isn’t a perfect mother like Sansa, but she’s learned from Catelyn’s mistakes and asked Jaime’s help to avoid more.

Arya pats Jo’s leg and the little girl wants both parents to hug her.

“Jo’s grown up from being a toddler, do you think the Queen’d allow her sister’s family to travel again?” Jaime whispers in Arya’s ear; they have kept Arya’s promise to Sansa to settle down with the planned heir.

Her eyes open wide, how thoughtful of Jaime to remember her great desire to see more of the world.

“I think so, Lannister. And it will be our first family travel of many.” 

**Author's Note:**

> A comment is always welcomed....


End file.
